


Once a Rookie, Always a Rookie

by Twisted_Fate_MK2



Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Adventure, Don't @ Me, Extreme What If, I know, Psychology, Splispace Radiation actually kills you, borrowed the story idea, had permission, ignore it, warfare
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2019-07-18 13:39:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 141,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16119590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Fate_MK2/pseuds/Twisted_Fate_MK2
Summary: (Credit to Adrasos on Archive and his story, Prepare to Drop, for the idea.) On the way down to New Mombasa, Rookie falls into the Slipspace Rupture and ends up crashing down on Menae, high above Palaven, while Shepard tries to find and rescue the new Primarch. From there, the war itself will shift and the fighting persists, but who knows what an ODST will add to the mix.





	1. Chapter 1

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Below him, through the viewing port beneath his feet that allowed he and other Helljumpers to see where they were going - for as little as it mattered, given the positions they would be in - was the great, blue jewel of Earth. Humanity's birthplace, the Covenant's most coveted target according to anyone with sense, and now that the Covenant had found it, probably the last battlefield on which the existence of the Human race would be bet.

"All or nothing, and the house looks like it's cheating. And not in our favor." He grumbled to himself, looking down at the great blue ball.

Or, well, the great orange one more like right now. With the sun edging around the horizon and bathing the sky he wasn't even in yet in a warm orange glow, the clouds tinged in reds and pinks from the light washing from one end to the other, the varying moisture levels and cloud densities causing the light to refract and fragment into a dozen colors that cast themselves on the clouds. Like the world was putting on a lightshow, guiding them all down welcomingly to fight the invaders bathing it in blood and plasma.

Red lights flashed on, bathing him in the warm light, and he took a breath. His fingers flexed along the grips to either side of himself, the Gunnery Sergeant's voice coming through the speakers around him, "Alright, ladies, Romeo and… other ladies, I guess, get ready to drop in one. See you in the thick of it."

He tuned out what Romeo said in return, eyes closing instead and right leg bouncing in time with a count in his head. An old habit, and a bad one by a lot of people's assertions, but not one he was going to even bother trying to stop. He had a million bad habits he could have chosen, and this one wasn't giving him cancer or killing his liver and kidneys. Not that climbing into a small metal coffin and dropping from low-orbit was any better, really.

Sixty seconds, and it was clever quips, red ready lights, and everything else that 'Troopers did before they dove into hell in 'Pods or Pelicans both.

Forty-five, and Buck ordered another weapons check no one needed. Not a single soul closed their pods without checking their gear, and Buck knew that. But it was better that to occupy the time than silence and droning beeping in his ears. It would only make everyone even more anxious.

Thirty seconds, and his knuckles began to ache from how hard he was gripping the handholds, knuckles almost definitely white under his gloves. His jaw clenched and his heart raced, blood pounding in his ears. He took a deep breath and held it, then let go a few seconds later to calm himself. This was nothing compared to facing down a charging Hunter or a rampaging Brute, after all, and he'd done both those things, and then later he'd run from a tactical warhead. A little fall wouldn't kill him.

He hoped, at least.

The two view screens on the door of the pod flickered on, staticy a bit but more than workable, and Dare spoke first, "Latest intel reports Covenant troops are massing beneath the Covenant carrier."

"They're falling back?" Buck asked, sounding as surprised as they all did at the news. Covenant didn't fall back, not normally, and when they did it was usually bad from Rook's experience. "Why?"

"We're not going to find out way up here." She answered sharply, definitely more than she needed to be at such a simple question. Whoever she was, she and Buck knew each other or something, because there was something there.

"Troopers!" Buck started, ignoring her entirely and proving that something was going on there. "We are green, and very, very mean!"

A moment later, their pods began detaching from the ship they were in, hurtling into freefall high above New Mombasa. They hurtles through the soundless void just above the atmosphere, or high enough it didn't cause any sound or friction yet, and Rook looked out at the crest of the Earth's round shape. Every planet was the same, in a single view, when you looked at the curve of the planet itself bending away from you.

"I take it back," drew his attention ahead of himself, Rome's voice sounding sickly amused as the ruined and burning hulk of what looked like a frigate came into view probably miles from them, "Navy got its butt kicked."

"Hey Romeo? Remember when I told you to shut your mouth?"

"Yeah?"

"Consider that a standing order." It looked like Buck didn't appreciate the humor any more than Rook or the others probably did. Whatever his opinions, Romeo didn't respond after that, so it seemed like he at least followed orders.

"Captain, this-" He lost the rest in static for a moment as they transitioned into full atmosphere and the pods adjusted. Buck and the others looked to be below him, so they'd passed the transition zone, which was why they were talking.

"Stand by to adjust trajectory." Dare, according to her helmet at least, answered whatever Buck had said. His eyes locked onto her polarized visor and narrowed questioningly, but one of the others spoke for him. "On my mark."

"What'd she just say?"

"Mark."

The pods ahead of him jerked a split second before his did, angling to the side of the carrier now, at the city's heart instead of the carrier's. Again, one of the others spoke his complaints for him, "We're way off course!"

"We're heading exactly where I need to go." Dare answered cryptically, and John's stomach tightened. A spook, then, it had to be and that explained the unexplained course adjustment, the odd looking helmet, and why she'd tagged on to the squad at the last moment.

"But we're gonna miss the carrier."

"Radiation!" Another barked, and now he was wishing he'd memorized names to voices instead of counting on helmets like he had as a Marine and in his first unit of ODSTs, who he'd been with for weeks before dropping with them.

"Covenant set off a damn nuke?"

No, they didn't use nuclear weaponry, which meant an impossibly unlikely and insane Insurrectionist attack, or-

"No… The carrier is going to jump." Dare filled out his thoughts before he could follow them, and now the young Helljumper was scared far more seriously. "It's a Slipspace rupture, you need to-"

"EMP!"

Static washed over his comms for a moment, but he caught Buck's, "-and pop your chutes, we're going in hard!" Before one of the pods slammed into his, and then he slammed into another's, grabbing the handle on the door in front of him and fighting against gravity, momentum, and whatever gods existed to keep it closed lest he be flung into open air to smear against the ground far below.

He saw the ground below, then a wash of purple as he hurtled towards the ship, and then the sky overhead before his vision darkened from the G-forces being applied to him now. He saw another blue, this one bright enough to hurt even with his visor polarized against it, and his eyes widened.

He was hurtling into the 'rupture, and that was very bad.

Inside the 'rupture, the world he found was a mix of all different colors, swirling in his sight almost mesmerizingly. It lasted only a moment, though, before the weightlessness gave way to gravity again and the world was a black night's sky, unfamiliar stars and a rocky surface beneath him visible through spider-webbing cracks all along the surfaces of his pod's viewing panels, if he could see through them at all.

Something slammed into his pod and jerked it to the side, but whatever it was hadn't pierced the armor and only succeeded in altering his course towards some kind of plateau, all grey stone and metal structures from what little he could glean with all the spinning his drop pod was currently doing.

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"Vega, move front and attract their fire. Vakarian, find a position and look for targets, support Vega while you're at it." Shepard ordered, sprinting far to the left towards one of the small shed-like buildings the Turian defenders had set up to use as cover and shelter. "I've got left flank."

Her left shoulder slammed into the cover and a Turian above her barely spared a glance to confirm that she wasn't a Husk and then turned bag, putting suppressing bursts onto several of the Marauders on the far end of the wide open are in the middle of the camp. The creatures spread out well enough, a couple of Cannibals scattered among their number, using scattered boulders and crates both as low cover.

"Target down." Garrus called over the coms as one's head exploded and it fell back, legs twitching. "Vega, Cannibals are-"

"I know, Gilipollas." The man snarled, rounding the corner and putting two heavy blasts from his Katana into the Reaper. It screeched as the first hit, sprawling wildly on the ground before the second carved into its face and ended it entirely. A Marauder nearby saw this and fired a burst towards him, but he was in cover far before the rounds hit the metal crate he was kneeling behind, "How about you do your job though, Genio."

"You know, Vega, we have translators." Shepard cracked, leaning out with her Avenger and sending a burst into a Cannibal's back, staggering it. It turned to snarl at her and she sent another burst into its face, just under some armored plating, and watched it slump to the ground before she slid back into cover, "If you're gonna call us names, saying them in Spanish won't help you too much."

"Habit, Commander, I was raised on it so-"

"Commander, I am registering something incoming on your position." EDI's voice interrupted him, the woman turning from the fight and stepping further into hard cover to hear her better. "Scans indicate it is a small, metallic item, but not of Reaper origin."

"Debris from the space battle?" Unlikely, but she had to ask.

"Negative, the metal is relatively solid on a structural integrity scan, and the Turian forces are not contesting this airspace currently with capital ships." The AI answered back simply, "It also was not on sensors before, and suddenly appeared in atmosphere high above you moments ago, along with an… Odd spike of radiation I am unfamiliar with."

"Radiation?" Odd, but she shelfed that concern for the moment and turned to scan the battlefield again, asking, "Where is it going to land?"

"Approximately seven feet ahead of Lieutenant Vega, and two more to the left, in under ninety seconds according to current speed."

"Son-of-a-bitch, Vega! Fall back, we have an unknown coming down near your position, sixty seconds out." Shepard stepped out of cover to cover the man's retreat as he himself stood and bolted back, unloading the rest of her Avenger's clip in the direction of anything that both moved and didn't look quite Turian enough for her taste.

True to EDI's word, ninety seconds after she'd warned them what looked and felt like a missile slammed into the ground behind the Reaper's defensives lines, crushing a metal crate under its weight and hurling the various Husks to the ground around it on that side of the battlefield. The Turians flinched at the arrival too, freezing for the briefest of moments possible, before they resumed firing at the remaining Reaper units. Several Marauders and Cannibals staggered as they rose, wounded from the object's arrival but still alive, and rounds from Shepard's Avenger scythed into two of them and drove them down in burts of old blood and bits of flesh and metal, the Turians matching her opportunistic viciousness.

The last couple of Marauders fell to the combined fire of the Turians present and herself, and then the plateau fell very suddenly and very uncomfortably quiet around them.

It was short lived, before she lowered her rifle and called out, "Vega, Vakarian, check in."

"Status green." Garrus answered, striding up behind her as she moved towards the massive oval of what looked like armored metal, a dent on one side where something had struck it with more force than the ground apparently had. "Little low on ammo, though. What is this thing?"

"Status green." Vega chipped in, holstering his Katana on the back of his waist and getting closer to inspect the thing while the Turians went about securing weapons, ammunition, and wounded. Several started the arduous process of hauling Reaper corpses away as well, and at her request, one ran off to find the new Primarch, Victus. "Looks like… A life pod, maybe? But not one of ours, definitely."

"Ma'am." Shepard turned, a thinner than usual Turian in dirty and scorched red armor carrying an Avenger like her own ran up to her, quickly rattling out, "General Victus is waiting for you, Ma'am. He says he will be ready to depart momentarily, he's issuing standing orders and last dispatches before he goes."

"Understood." She nodded, grimacing as he turned and jogged away again, sighing tiredly and sadly. "They'll probably lose this moon without him here to lead them, won't they, Garrus?"

"We will, yeah." Garrus answered, voice a low tone she knew meant he was hurt by the thought. She looked to him, and for once saw a Turian instead of Garrus, gazing at the great orange spot on Palaven he had said was once his home and understood. But he moved on quickly enough, rolling his neck and raising his Mantis, "Gonna do a few last calls of my own, if you don't mind, Shepard."

"Bring General Victus back-"

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"-with you when you are done, we need to get out of here." JD coughed, pressing a hand against his side and groaning lowly while he listened to one of the only two voices he could understand. Bruised ribs all along the side of his chest, and he hated bruised ribs. Hurt just enough to be annoying. "And see if he has heavy gear, if this thing is a lifepod we need to see if the occupants survived."

He couldn't make out what the others were saying, all he could hear was a series of odd clicking sounds that he wasn't sure weren't his coming from his frankly ruined drop-pod. But it had received answers before, as muted as they had been especially in the sounds of combat that had briefly followed his rather hard landing on… Whatever planet or moon this was. The UNSC forces here were obviously engaged against Covenant forces and unable to call for help or rescue, because they wouldn't be here instead of at Earth if that wasn't the case. The UNSC had done an almost complete recall of forces to defend the homeworld, and he doubted some rocky moon would be exempt from that order.

Carefully, he rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up so he was sitting on the back of his chair, grabbing first his M6C and checking its integrated sights. Satisfied when they worked, as disorienting as the impromptu check was for the briefest moment when he zoomed in on his leg, he holstered the weapon on his thigh and reached for his M7S, running the same check on it and ejecting the magazine as well to check the rounds were intact and seemed safe enough to use. The last thing a 'Trooper wanted was to drop, move out, and when they engage their gun blows up in their hands.

Satisfied, he reached up to press the emergency release buttons on his pod, small green lights sparking to life before he hit the last one. Readying his M7S, he took a breath, and the door launched into the air and away with a loud whoosh. Rookie followed it, rising in one fluid motion and raising his submachine gun readily, facing the sound of a woman's voice barking orders as those around him scrambled away.

Two humans stood closest, one in heavy armor and the other in at best a recon set of some sort, rifles pointed at him. Around him, odd aliens clicked and hissed at each other, spreading out and pointing rifles of some kind at him - though many had the same as the woman in front of him. That implied affiliation, maybe even an alliance.

Rebels and some Covenant race he hadn't seen, maybe?

No, this was a battlefield as clear as any he had seen before, so this was a combat race. They'd have been deployed at some point, and the way the creatures moved - disciplined, circling him, weapons steady and none speaking save two in heavier looking armor - spoke of strict military discipline, hard training, and experience together after both had been instilled in them properly.

"Hold fire, hold fire! It's a human, and that's not Cerberus as far as I know." The woman, her voice and body shape - lithe, but the strong kind born of combat and experience, and easily seen under her armor as close as it hugged her - ordered, and his eyes narrowed when the aliens seemed to listen to her. Heads turned slightly when she spoke and one in blue armor clicked something at them or her, the woman spoke to him directly, her hand moving from the grip of her rifle into the air in a show of peace, "I'm Commander Jane Shepard, Alliance N7 Operative and Council Spectre! Who are you?"

"John Doe," she snorted, but he continued in the same low tone, "Lance Corporal, Orbital Drop Shock Trooper, squad designation Alpha-Nine, serial designation 11282-31220-JD under standard United Nations Space Command military designations." He spared the unknown aliens a glance and returned his gaze to the woman's mask, eyes visible through a small and clear glass visor above her lips and over her nose, "I don't recognize your unit designation."

"Which one?" She asked carefully, eyes searching his polarized visor for something. The blue alien said something to her, and she shook her head, "No, Garrus, I don't… I don't think he's Cerberus. The insignias he has don't match any of theirs I know of."

"Any of them." He answered her question, and after a second he clarified for her, "Spectre, Council, Alliance, N7. These designations are unfamiliar to me. Are you under ONI jurisdiction?" It would explain the aliens, but only partially.

"United Nations Space Command is unfamiliar to me, too, you said Rookie was your designation, right? I assume you'd prefer I use that?" He nodded, and she lowered her rifle marginally, "Look, I don't know what is going on, but we're in a warzone. I can't keep the Turians from shooting you forever, Rookie."

"Turians?" He gave the aliens a look, searching odd faces and dark-visored masks for anything that would betray something of note. His grip tightened on the M7S' small grip, and the 'Turians' shifted anxiously, but none moved to defy the woman, Shepard. Something caught his eye off to his right and he turned slightly, and froze.

A world on fire, great orange spots raging, and a massive ship of some kind lumbering in the distance, lances of red lasers like streams of molten steel carving out and across the ground, great gouts of explosions sounding behind it in a trail of destruction. Around the plateau, a dark landscape of black stone spires and fields of rocks stretched out, fighters of two types buzzing over it and blasting each other out of the air, and entrenched positions - destroyed and still fighting - dotted the landscape wherever the terrain was most suited.

A missile from the ground soared into the air and slammed into the titanic ship, the thing sagging only slightly before it turned, and a lance of that red and orange attack carved out and through it in a shower of molten metal and sparks. A moment later, munitions or fuel caught light and ignited in another shower of sparks, molten metal and destruction, flying through the air and peppering the ground around it.

"Where am I, and what is happening?" He asked, lowering his weapon and clambering out of the pod, dropping to the ground uncaring of the weapons still trained on him. "And what," he started, pointing a finger at the ship carving scorch-lines across the terrain miles away, "is that?"

"Menae, a moon orbiting Palaven." The woman answered, waving a hand at the aliens. Most lowered their rifles, and Blue chittered something that made them all stand down and return to whatever they'd been doing. He didn't react to either name, standing relaxedly in front of his pod, and the woman sighed audibly, "Menae is classified, but Palaven didn't mean anything to you?"

"No."

"It's the Turian homeworld." The woman said, gesturing at Blue when he and the hispanic looking soldier joined her and stood to either side protectively. "And that is a Reaper. They're carving it up like a Thanksgiving Turkey, just like Earth, and we need to-"

"They're attacking Earth?" He snapped, taking a step towards her as his pulse spiked. "What about the Covenant?"

"I, the what?" She asked, and he ignored the two half-raising their rifles at his sudden movement. They wouldn't shoot him unless he made a more hostile move, the discipline shown here proved that to him. "Not important right now- Look, yes, Earth is under attack, just like here. I'm here on a classified operation to extract a VIP in hopes of assembling a force to counter-attack."

"Understood." He nodded, snapping a salute and coming to attention, the woman flinching at the sudden action. "Lance Corporal John Doe, reporting for duty in the defense of Earth as per standing Winter Contingency protocols and orders. Until I can ascertain what has happened to me, I place myself under your command as ranking Human officer, Ma'am."

"What the hell…" The hispanic man shook his head, looking at the woman and sighing, "Commander, your call, but this reeks of somethin' a bit more off than I would be comfortable with."

"I-" several of the Turians started clicking and hissing again urgently and she turned, looking back at a half-ruined wall as the defender leapt down and tried to bolt. The wall slammed down before the alien could though, pinning it, and a massive claw slammed down and ripped the alien in half as a creature lumbered forward.

"Reapers!" The woman called, the warning was less than necessary though, the Turians were already moving behind crates for cover as several synthetic looking Turians - or he thought they were, at least - began spreading out behind the creature, using it as armored cover to advance. "Defensive positions, Vakarian, Vega, defend the Primarch and pull him back."

"Ma'am." Vega, now named, responded along with something like that from the Turian, turning and hogging off towards a cluster of other Turians swarming protectively over one in dirty armor and heavy cover.

She slammed against a crate and Rookie followed, each on a corner of the massive thing while she spoke, "Look, gonna assume you've been living under a rock and don't know shit about shit, because I don't want either of us dying, okay?" He nodded, and she took a breath, "Reapers bad, Turians good. Primarch needs to stay safe for the war effort. That big one is a Brute, it has heavy armor. The little ones are Marauders, they have shields and command roles, I think. The rounder ones are Cannibals, don't let them get to their fallen, and they don't have shields so they're easy to kill. Roger?"

"Roger." He answered, flicking the safety of his M7S back off and looking over his shoulder at her, "Permission to engage and ROE?"

"Granted, fuck it, go wild and kill anything that looks like those three." She answered, slamming what he assumed to be ammunition into her rifle and, "I'll let you know if any new kinds of Reapers show up. 'Til then, kill anything that looks like those. Good?"

"Understood. Engaging." He stood without another word and stepped from cover, sighting down one of the Marauders with his M7, putting the circle-sight on its torso and opening with a long burst of automatic fire.

The creature stumbled under the fire, turning and returning several shots while it sparked, and the Rookie stepped to the side suddenly. The rounds passed by harmlessly as its shields died, and the next several ripped into its upper chest and throat, killing it. A round glanced off his chest-plate and he slammed down against a crate, quickly running the angle through his head and rising again inside a few seconds. The round shape of a Cannibal was the first thing he saw, and a quartet of rounds into what he guess was its head sent it slamming against the back of a Marauder firing on the massed Turians.

"Husk!" He heard the woman roar from behind him, turning to see a vaguely human thing leap off a crate at him and dropping his M7.

He reached out quickly, grabbing and arm and yanking down to slam it into the ground and drawing his SOCOM in his off hand. A round to the head finished it, and he raised the sidearm to sight another one rushing around the crate, perforating first it and then two more with a pair of rounds each and kneeling on instinct when he didn't see any more of the creatures.

Several fiery rounds lanced over his head while he reloaded the sidearm and placed it back on his thigh, retrieving his M7 and doing the same. Firing bursts as she moved, the 'Spectre' moved from her cover to his, sending short bursts downrange as she went while rounds sparked off her chest harmlessly for several seconds, the woman kneeling before her shields - and didn't that cement that he wasn't in Kansas anymore - dropped entirely.

"Two Cannibals at nine, a Marauder at twelve, and that Brute is closing on the Primarch. Can you handle them for me so I can deal with the Brute?" He nodded and she sighed, looking at him, "Got any grenades?"

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To her surprise, he held up two small, green grenades that looked like something out of an old war movie. She took them, though, sighing and asking, "How do I set these, and what are the detonation times?"

"Depress the buttons and throw them." He answered simply, shrugging his armored shoulders when she tilted her helmet in clear question at him. He sighed, and continued in a tired tone, "It won't detonate in your hand or the air. It has to strike the ground or a hard surface, and then it will detonate."

"Huh." She plucked one from his outstretched hand and stood, pressing the small, red button she found on top of it and flinging it towards a couple Cannibals. It bounced of one's back and hit the ground, rolling an inch before it exploded in light and shrapnel, ripping the two Cannibals to shreds along with the corpse they had been feasting on. Taking the other, she stepped out of cover and holstered her Avenger, drawing her Carnifex instead, "Cover me, would you kindly?"

She didn't wait for his answer, raising her Carnifex to snap a shot into a Cannibal that noticed her and then bolting towards the Brute's back as it charged at Vega. The large hispanic man managed to leap back as his cover was crushed, coming up in front of the line of Turians that were pouting fire onto the beast, but the Brute raised its claw high to crush Vega, the cover, and the Turians in one. The Turians, at least, scattered but Vega had nowhere to go.

Which meant she would have to, she just hoped Rookie could cover her properly as she holstered her Carnifex and brought up her Omni-Tool. The Tech-Armor program wasn't hers, but it would work, and she keyed it up as she ran. The holographic armor, condensed Omni-Gel forming armor plating and routing power and processing systems in her 'Tool into the defensive measures, deflected the single round a Marauder managed to squeeze out before she looked and saw it collapse under a lance of fire from the Rookie's suppressed weapon. A Cannibal next to it rounded on her as well and suffered the same fate, and then a second Cannibal met it as well as it leapt down off the roof of one of the Turian deployed structures.

Three steps from the Brute, she made a fist and made a twisting motion, the standard motions to trigger the Omni-Blade program that military 'Tools came prebuilt with now. The glowing blade sprang to life just as she reached the Brute, she leapt onto its back, surprising the Reaper abomination.

It snarled and staggered under her weight, and she tried not to be offended at that but burying her Omni-Blade into the shoulder the claw-arm was attached to felt satisfying regardless. Planting her knees on the small of its back while it bucked her, trying to throw her, she shouted, "Get back, I'm deploying explosives!"

Vega clumsily leapt onto the crate as the creature turned back to him, warbling angrily, and he bolted when she raised her other fist with the grenade and depressed the trigger. "Here goes nothing smart!"

She pitched the grenade under the Brute and crouched down on it, eyes scrunching shut anxiously. The grenade went off and the Brute stumbled to the side and then fell silently, the woman on top rolling off and drawing her Carnifex warily, levelling it at the creature and taking a deep breath. The creature shook for several seconds, and then went still, and she heard the all clear cries going out around her.

"Joker, get a damn shuttle down here for the new Primarch." She watched the Rookie rise, coming towards them all, and sighed, "And advise the others, I'm coming with two more guests as well. Have Liara run searches for me on 'United Nations Space Command', 'ONI', and a squad 'Alpha-Nine, if she can spare the time for it. We have a weird one."

When she turned, the Rookie was just behind her, standing in his relaxed stance, and she sighed tiredly, cocking a hand with a hip on it, "Heard that?" A nod, and her brow rose, "Are you going quiet because I called you weird."

"No." He answered simply, "I don't like talking if I don't have to."

"Uh huh." She shook her head as Vega and Garrus joined them, the dark armored man taking a step away from the alien. "Well, you better get ready to do a lot of it, because I have as many questions as the Reapers have… Bad ideas, I guess."

"Great analogy." Vega chuckled, wincing when she shot him a look, "Uh, Commander?"

"Come on," she sighed when she saw the Kodiak coming down, searching for a landing zone. She already knew this was going to be a long, long conversation with Hackett when they got back.

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Credit for the story idea goes to a story titled Prepare to Drop, by an author on Archive named Adrasos, and written with the permission from said author to use their initial idea. All credit for the inspiration goes to them, please give the original story a read and support him/her as well.

Thanks for reading.

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	2. Chapter 2

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To explain the delay in this chapter. A server on Discord called ‘Work in Progress’ is responsible. It’s horrible, truly. The rules are sometimes not even stated to you until you break one, the punishments are the same, the mods are biased in the extreme - one of them outright said to me ‘I know how to deal with your kind to get rid of you’ for example - and genuinely just ruined my writing mood at every point. 

Several people were disruptive to conversations - yes, that’s against the rules, no, they didn’t get punished, yes, I got in trouble for asking them to leave me alone - and just as many were rude and intolerant of basically anything that I said.

I left the server, because it was hindering my ability to work, after I politely asked someone who had already insulted me and dragged me through the mud three times - got in trouble once of course and I got in trouble two other times - to leave me alone and stop interrupting a conversation I was having. 

Delays on that end are gone now, I just needed to vent a bit, you know. Ignore a prattling asshole and a long note, if you will. 

~ Twisted

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“It’s not my call, just protocol.” Shepard has said apologetically when they’d boarded, and the ODST had stepped off the shuttle to be greeted by six Marines assembled in what looked like a shuttle bay to him - or their equivalent, whoever ‘they’ were - armed with the same rifles the Commander had used gripped in the not-relaxed hold of soldiers, ready to snap up at the slightest provocation. “You have to surrender your arms and equipment, if you want to stay aboard. Or just your guns, and we’ll put you in the brig until we reach the Citadel where you can get off.”

“Is the Citadel acting in defense of Earth?” He asked simply, mirroring the Marine’s grips on their rifles. Shepard grimaced, and that was enough answer for him, “I will disarm peacefully, Commander.”

One of the soldiers collapsed their rifle down at his words, placing it on his back and drawing his sidearm instead, beckoning him forward with his disarmed hand and holding it out. Careful to hold it by the foregrip, the ODST handed the submachine gun over, and another trooper stepped forward to take his M6 himself, as well as a combat knife on his waist. The first soldier laid his weapon aside and closed with him, keeping his handgun pressed against a gap between the ODST’s armor plates and patting him down. 

The soldier asked him about pockets as he reached them, and the ODST answered frankly and honestly, until they were done and the soldier stepped back finally and nodded to Shepard, “Doesn’t seem to be hiding anything, Ma’am. Permission to scan him with my ‘Tool?”

“It’s fine.” He nodded when Shepard actually looked at him for permission, as though to offer a chance for him to back out now - or come clean, if he was hiding something - and the woman relayed her own command to the marine. 

Once more, that sidearm pressed into his stomach between two armored plates, turned slightly to get an organ shot if he tried anything. The ODST was unconcerned, as he didn’t intend to try anything and so had nothing to hide, and simply eyed the whirling orange thing on the soldier’s arm curiously. Like a magnet-baton, he swept it along the ODST’s arms and legs, beeping as it passed over his armor but not finding anything else. Finally, satisfied, the soldier stepped back and looked at the scan. 

“Showing what looks like… Magazines or clips in the pockets, a cloth something in the chest-plate and solid armor elsewhere. Everything looks above-board, and in line with his answers to my questions, Ma’am.” The Marine finally holstered, or more accurately collapsed the pistol and let it hang on a thigh, and nodded, speaking to John himself, “You will be detained and escorted to the armory under guard, where your arms, ammunition, and armor will be confiscated and thoroughly examined. Do you understand this and consent or do you act under duress?”

“I understand and consent.”

“Your weapons, equipment, and armor will be thoroughly examined and throughout this process all rights to privacy and liberties to act and move will be temporarily null, including Human rights excepting war crimes and cruel or unusual punishments.” The Marine continued while the Commander watched, arms crossed uncomfortably throughout the procedure. “Do you understand this and consent, or do you act under duress?”

“I understand and consent.” He answered patiently, understanding this was all procedure. Military life, especially under wartime conditions, got one used to these kinds of procedural items. 

“As per wartime conditions, upon being divested of items, you will be escorted under guard to our medical facility for a thorough examination. At that time, you will be scanned and checked for recent surgical procedures, blood will be taken, and all attempts to identify you will be made alongside attempts to ascertain if you have undergone aforementioned surgical procedures to instal monitoring equipment or explosives of any kind. Your medical report will be viewable by all High-Command officers, the President and the Council per treaty conditions, but otherwise classified per personal liberty and law following the conclusion of the investigation.” The Marine rattled off mechanically, and though the ODST’s brow raised a couple times - implanted explosives? - he understood the reasons by and large. “Do you understand this and consent, or do you act under duress?”

“I understand and consent.”

“Thank you for your cooperation, Sir. My helmet has recorded all interaction which has gone over here, and is being broadcast to a locked data storage device on board this ship. Should you request it, a copy of it will be made available to you, as will my name, rank, and unit designation.” The Marine explained, tapping his helmet at the ‘recorded’ part indicatively, but seeming to relax now that the worst was largely over. “Should you feel like any laws have been violated, you may report me to Commander Jane Shepard, Alliance Special Forces, or Admiral Steven Hackett, as highest standing Alliance officer, or associated sub-commanders as you wish. Do you understand this?”

“Yes, I understand this information.” He spared Shepard a glance and nodded respectfully before the Marines formed up around him, eyes on him but otherwise relaxed, and he made to follow them. 

Orbital Drop Shock Troopers were trained to be lethal, perceptive weapons, and so this rundown told the ‘Trooper a lot more than he’d thought to glean so soon. Or, it implied things, at the very least. The biggest and most prominent being that this was the same kind of war as he feared, and the same kind he’d come from, but seemingly only in the onset of it. And a lot of things lead to that assumption.

The biggest was the new ‘Primarch’ that had ridden up with them, a replacement for the newly deceased one on Palaven. Which had been on fire last he’d seen, over a large part of it, and the system itself under heavy siege but still ostensibly the capital and they were fighting over it even though it was already lost. Which meant that they weren’t yet properly compartmentalizing losses and withdrawing from losing fights. 

The next was that the new ‘Primarch’ was needed for some gathering, to coordinate effective defensive and offensive measures against the Reapers. Which meant that until recently, the threat hadn’t been present, or was a small enough one as to be disregarded. He wasn’t sure which, and likely wouldn’t be sure for some time without either asking or finding out elsewhere. But given the apparent lack of a coordinated combat line against these Reapers, compared to the contradictory presence of some Council which sounded like and seemed like an inter-species diplomatic group given sending a Human military craft and soldier to retrieving a Turian, it seemed an obvious conclusion to reach.

Which put this conflict on par in terms of destruction with the Covenant, given that two homeworlds were under this kind of assault already and the destruction he’d literally seen scorched onto Palaven. 

“How long has this war been ongoing?” He asked the Marines to confirm while he unstrapped his armor and laid it on a table in what was apparently the armory - laughably small as he felt it was.

“Three days, technically.” One answered in the back, leaning tiredly on a table tucked against the wall to the left of the door he’d been escorted through from the command deck. Surprised, the Rookie rounded on the Marines in question, left in his upper chestplate and helmet but little else aside from the undersuit. They flinched, but only slightly, and she continued, “They, uh, the Reapers hit the Batarians harder about a week ago or so, and then pushed on to Earth and Palaven.” 

“A single week…” He shook his head disbelievingly, turning back to the table and unstrapping his chest piece to lay it on the table. Two homeworlds essentially lost from what he gathered, in a little over a week at best. 

Once he’d finally stripped out of his armor, reaching up to run a hand along the brown stubble set on too-pale skin from so long in his armor or aboard ships and clad only in the bodysuit under his armor, he padded along behind the Marines into the elevator and down a level. Soldiers turned to look at him from the tables they sat at, eating their meals, and he ignored them as he was escorted by to the medical quarters adjoining.

Which was remarkably empty, he noted as the older woman there turned and stood, glancing to the leading Marine, “This is him?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” The soldier answered, looking at him and nodding at a medical bed behind her meaningfully. The Rookie took the order, stepping past the doctor and sitting on the bed while she turned and pressed a button, the window into the cafeteria darkening until it had turned opaque enough to block vision. “Do you understand the protocol, Ma’am?”

“I am familiar enough, yes.” She nodded, turning to smile good naturedly at him. “Are you going to be a problem, young man?”

“No, Ma’am.” He answered clippedly, sitting still on the bed and trying to ignore the grating smell of the medical room - that annoying mix of cold metal, anesthetics and surgical cleanliness than always rubbed a soldier the wrong way. “I just want this through with so I can move on, Ma’am.”

And getting through that was shaping up to require significantly more conversation than he’d prefer, which was typical of his luck he decided after a second. Given whatever frankly insane physics had brought him into this mess.

“Typical soldier, always rushing things.” She clicked her tongue in amusement, looking at the Marines, “Two of you stand by the doors, the rest of you out. I can handle him, and law or not, I am going to at least show his privacy some respect.”

“Ma’am.” The soldier turned, speaking to the others in a commanding voice, “Private Alvel, you and me are monitoring inside. Everyone else, standard pattern on the other side of the glass. Don’t answer questions asked, you all know the protocol.”

“Sir.” They responded, all but a thin and wiry looking soldier filing out. The remaining two took a position to either side of the door, rifles resting across their chests.

“Now then,” the doctor nodded, turning to him and offering her hand to shake, “I’m Doctor Chakwas, this ship’s medical officer if you couldn’t guess.” He took the offered hand and shook it gently, the woman humming as she brought up another glowing device, “Now then, let’s get underway, shall we?”

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“Glad you could finally join us, son.” The older man, face marred by a war long past judging from the set-in way the scars laid, said as he was ushered into the small room adjoining what had looked to be a strategic command room of some kind. “Shepard says you were cleared on all counts for suspicious materials, so you can consider your status as prisoner over, short and loose as that was. Given the situation everyone is in, I hope you can understand it.”

“I do.” He nodded, looking over the man’s uniform and deciding he had to be of significant rank and came to attention, thankful for the loaned uniform he’d bean given after his checkup. “Lance-Corporal John Doe, reporting for duties, Sir.”

“At ease, young man. You’re not under my command, technically. I’m Admiral Hackett, Alliance Fifth Fleet. Or was, until recent events.” He chuckled, looking at Shepard as the humor left his face, “He’s military all right, you can see it in his eyes and the way he stands. But you’re sure he’s not Cerberus?”

“We didn’t detect any radio equipment or explosives beyond what he told us were there, and those are military ones and not in enough quantity to do anything.-”

“And duds, now.” He added, the two turning to look at him for more. “All of my squad were issued with basic explosives, standard for the operation we were supposed to be on. My detonator was destroyed.”

“And his armor doesn’t have shields of any kind, or monitoring devices that transmit to anything.” Shepard concluded, shaking her head slowly and chuckling, and for the first time John actually looked at her. 

She was as lithe as he’d guessed when she’d been wearing her armor, and threatening then as much as she was now even in the loose fitting crew uniform she was wearing now and such a small frame that someone less experienced would have doubted could really produce power. With a shock of shoulder-length red hair, and bright green eyes as well, over a kind of cocky but knowingly so smile that spoke to the idea that she knew she was the best fighter in the room on almost any occasion and took no shame in that. A thin scar stretched over her right brow, in line with the eyebrow itself as though aligned to it, and another sat on the opposite jawline. In his mind, the image merged with the sight of her mounting the massive Reaper abomination he’d given her his grenades for, and made the decision to not fight her regardless of where he went next.

“Cerberus wouldn’t have sent an operative crashing down like that onto a planet at war, particularly not without shields. Further, they’d have no reason to, they didn’t know where we were headed.” She continued, the admiral nodding his agreement as she spoke, the woman herself gesturing at his head, “He also didn’t screen as having any control-implants we know of, or transmitters, and doesn’t look to have cybernetics installed.”

“What bothers me is his helmet.” Hackett said after a moment, and John’s confusion must have been evident on his face because the man chuckled and explained, “There’s a lot of data storage space in your helmet, and frankly, we don’t know what it’s for. The video we pulled off it didn’t occupy the same amount of space.”

“And we had to physically make a way to get it off and converted into a basic format that we could view.” Shepard added with a small grimace at the information, though that was even more steps towards confirming the Rookie’s own suspicions. Impossible suspicions though they may be, he was fast running out of others. “Your formatting was entirely different from our own, and it didn’t work for everything. We only managed what we did thanks to some… Unique assets on board the Normandy.”

“Assets I don’t know about or care to ask.” Hackett agreed, nodding with that smile old men always had. Looking back to John, he continued, “We saw some interesting things in your helmet’s video. The most interesting, to me and Anderson, was a massive purple craft we saw hanging over what an analyst denoted as the African coast. Would you care to explain what that was?”

“Yes, Sir.” He answered crisply, “I was part of a large detachment of Orbital Drop Shock Troopers deployed to board that Covenant Carrier and capture a High Prophet, to the end of negotiating a ceasefire with the Covenant.”

“Would you mind explaining what that is to us? I don’t recognize the name ‘Covenant, or that ship, and I certainly don’t remember one landing in Africa.” Hackett asked politely, or as politely as John had expected. Still, he nodded, and began to explain.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“Hell of a story, that was, young man.” Hackett said when he’d finally finished explaining the Covenant and the Human-Covenant war to him, in as much detail as he could manage. A process that felt like it had taken hours, but couldn’t have been more than one. “Anyone else, they’d call you a liar and order Shepard to arrest you until we found out the truth. But given the frankly ludicrous amount of times Shepard has said something insane and been right, I will defer to her.”

“I feel crazy saying it, but… I believe him.” Shepard answered after a second, making a pinched face at the admission. Hackett gave her a look, no more than a raised brow and a tilt of his head, and the woman explained quickly, “As I said previously, Cerberus wouldn’t have outfitted him this way, nor would the Reapers have, and neither could have known I would be on Menae. Not if they couldn’t also destroy this ship right here and now.”

“As insane as it really is,” she continued, jerking her head at the ODST, “his story makes more sense than anything else I can come up with. And Liara has no idea who he is either, she said she’d look and message if she found anything out. You know how deep her information runs, even Cerberus wouldn’t be able to hide this. Then there’s that radiation we detected as well, and that has no explanation on either side either. His story, though… It does.”

“Slipspace.” Rookie said in agreement, “At least theoretically, I think, it explains the radiation.” He was a soldier, though, and couldn’t be entirely sure. That the radiation hadn’t killed him outright was already straining what he knew about Slipspace travel in general, though maybe it being Covenant had something to say there.

“Then I’m classifying that information, beyond who either of you decide to share it with yourselves.” Hackett said, sounding suddenly tired and shaking his head. “Dimension hopping super soldiers… What’s next, a live Prothean? Maybe the Geth will come riding to our rescue with it, too. And you offered your help?”

“Per Winter Contingency, I’m reporting for defensive operations.” Rookie shrugged, the shoulders of his crew uniform rustling quietly in an odd way. Or, odd for him at least, he supposed that it was normal for people not used to bodysuits and armor. 

“Then I’m officially drafting you into the Alliance military under my own authority, and ordering you to standby for rank and order aboard the SSV Normandy SR-2, under direct command of Commander Jane Shepard.” He said simply, the Rookie nodding and turning to the woman to snap a salute. 

“And I am giving you a skip promotion to Corporal.” She said, smiling a wide and toothy grin that… Was kind of frightening, really. Almost vicious, and excited at the same time, in a way that sent a brief and small chill up the ODST’s spine. “We’ll get you a basic shield system installed on your armor as soon as we can, and sort out weaponry for you. Unless you want to use yours, in which case… I can try and get some Spectre resources on it?”

“Spectre?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Ah, yeah, guess that wouldn’t make sense to a... “ She paused, looking at him and making a face, cocking a hip and putting a fist on it, “I’m going to say foreigner here, Rookie, because I don’t know what else to say, and you get what I mean. A ‘foreigner’ wouldn’t know what a Spectre is.”

“I’ll leave you two to sort this out, then. Shepard, get to the meeting point, and find out what the Krogans and Salarians need. They’re waiting on you.” Hackett nodded with a sigh when she saluted, turning as the holographic display flickered out behind him. 

“Let’s get you settled in then, Rookie. I’ll give you the grand tour, and find you a nice spot. Maybe the old Observation Deck? Maybe, yeah, maybe...” Shepard said shortly, losing herself in her own thoughts and turning and leading him out of the small communications room, talking over her shoulder at him, “Yeah, you can have the, uh, right side Observation Deck. Should be right.”

“Hm.” He nodded, glad to simply get to stay quiet finally. Nothing but talking, answering questions, for hours now. It was nice to just follow, finally, and do what he was told. 

“Need to get you an Omni-Tool, too, and show you how to look stuff up on it…” She seemed to brighten suddenly when she saw the Turian, Garrus if he remembered right, round a corner with a small pad in his hands and a digital screen, “Ah, Garrus! Meet our newest crew-mate, Corporal John Doe.”

“Wait, that’s your actual name?” He sounded surprised, blinking weird, almost reptilian eyes at him. In an uncomfortable way, he looked like an Elite in some ways, but just different enough that the Rookie could calm himself and nod at the question, “Huh. I sense a story there, but I won’t push for it. Welcome to the team, Rookie. I saw you out there, and I have to ask about the nickname, because no way in your hell are you actually a rookie at all this.”

“Name stuck. Prefer it now.” He shrugged, the Turian tilting its head while he mentally ordered him to leave it be, or maybe begged him. His mouth was aching from so much damn talking. 

“I think he’s worn out.” Shepard said, patting him on the arm and smiling up at him, the woman herself a couple inches shorter than he was. Not that he let that change his opinion on her, he’d killed enough Brutes and Elites to know size didn’t matter. “Hackett had a lot of questions for our wayward space-traveler.”

“You gonna explain that, or-”

“Making a brief for the ground team and anyone else critical that needs to be in the know.” She gave him a look, scarred eyebrow raising questioningly, “That alright with you? They do kind of need to know who they’re working with, after all, but if you have qualms...” He simply shrugged, and she blinked at him a couple times before sighing and looking at Garrus, “Okay, I don’t think he cares.”

“Alright, well, like I said, I guess. Welcome to the team.” The Turian offered his hand, and John swallowed as he looked at it for a couple seconds. Those talons looked sharp, after all, but…

Shepard elbowed him in the side, and his hand came up to meet the Turian’s, nodding respectfully as they shook while Garrus and Shepard chuckled and the woman grumbled, “Great, another antisocial weirdo, that’s what we needed…”

“Anyways,” she moved on when he looked at her, “Garrus, can you get an Omni-Tool sorted and meet me on Deck Four, up under engineering with it, and see if you can get his armor too? That’s where I’m putting him up, until I find somewhere else to put him. That part I’ll, uh, figure out later! Yeah.”

“Anyways, yeah, do that for me?” The Turian chuckled, a sound that came from low in his chest and thrummed oddly, and she smiled, “Thanks, Garrus. You’re the best alien buddy a girl could ever ask for.” 

“Isn’t that how you talk to a pet…?”

“Come on, Rookie, let’s get this grand tour underway.” He nodded, and Garrus sighed like someone who had suffered for too long under weights without compare, and the Turian watched them leave before making his way into the large room behind them. 

“So, that was the War Room, and this is the CIC, where I plot out our courage to objectives we’ve been issued or found, and combat orders are run if we end up in a fight or something. You know, war ship and all that.” He nodded again, and she snorted a small laugh, “You don’t talk much, do you?”

“Not if I can help it, no.” He answered, shaking his head.

“I mean, it’s fine, as long as you shoot straight and talk when you need to. And I know you do both, so…” She flailed her hands and shrugged, smiling almost dorkily, and he himself almost laughed at the ridiculous gesture. She seemed almost annoyed by that but shrugged a moment later and turned, like it didn’t actually matter to her at all. “On with the tour!”

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

All Concerned :

I intend to address that soonish. Suffice to say for now, he had no context, and mainly meant on the ground the Reaper is massive. To be able to land and move that way is, actually, special even in the Halo universe. 

Jackalope :

When they can be, yeah. He did a lot of talking here and in last chapter, but trust me when I say that will not be the case terribly often.


	3. Chapter 3

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

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(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

His quarters, as loose as he was using that term right now, were nice enough by his standards. A small engineering sub-room - though the two engineers upstairs told him they never really used the sub-room’s backup systems since in most cases if they were needed it was because the shields or engines had overloaded and probably blown the ship in two - and he was quick to spend his first day aboard and not under guard modifying the space to his tastes, once he had permission to do so. 

First was his cot, tucked into the back of the room against the wall that separated the area out from the lower sections of the gun battery beyond. Unlike the others, he chose not to keep his armor and weapons in the cargo-bay, and instead set a large, low crate with a large metal plate to serve as a sort of table top that his M7S and M6C were laid at the top of, against the wall until he started working on them. Beside the makeshift table, laid across two more small, waist-high crates like the ones used for the ‘table’, he had his armor laid out alongside several tools he’d requisitioned from Vega and Cortez to work on the armor, and integrate what he could into it to make himself a better force on the field. 

“I can install a weak VI in the helmet’s command suite, to monitor your ammunition and shields for you.” Garrus offered, sitting on a stool next to the armor’s crates, his helmet laid in front of him with the back section of armor removed and the inner workings exposed. “I know your suit does that already, except for the shield monitoring system.”

“Sure.” He nodded, the Turian’s Omni-Tool lighting up while the alien set to work, fishing a small chip out of a compartment in his armor and working on identifying the wires to splice the VI in with while the Rookie finished up sealing the back of his armor up where they'd installed the shield generator itself and its power unit. 

“You said the Covenant had shields, when you fought them in your, uh, dimension I guess is the word I’ll use.” The Turian asked, voice lower than normal and flanging slightly in what the ‘Trooper assumed to be his nervous voice. 

“Yes.”

“But your ground forces didn’t? It would have been slaughter...” He turned, raising his thin brow at the alien, and Garrus hummed low and deep in his chest and bowed his head, flanges quirking at the visual rebuke. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say it like that. I just… With the war here, I wondered how similar yours was.”

“Similar.” He nodded, sighing after a second as a piece of armor clicked into place and running a thumb over it in thought. “Very similar. Picture Palaven, and put that image over every Turian world.”

“Damn…”

“Yeah. Damn.” The soldier grumbled, smiling sadly at a few particular images that brought on. Worlds burning, purple ships looming low over it and sending bursts of blue fire down onto them while burnt and broken hulks of UNSC defences and defending ships listed by or fell to the planet’s surface far below and his ship flew away as fast as it could manage to do so. 

He flinched when an alien hand settled on his shoulder, pulling away while Garrus leaned back and held his taloned hand up in a show of peace, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, you just... Zoned out for a minute there, staring at your armor. Are you all right?”

“Fine.” He answered, going back to his work without another word, closing up the armor sections again and checking them over. 

“I…” Garrus made that odd humming sound again, turning to work on his helmet and falling into silence at that respectfully for several minutes. After a while, he finally spoke again, “What was life like, back in your, you know, dimension?”

“Hard. We were at war, for a very long time.” Civil war first, for a number of years, and then the Covenant came and all that mostly came to a stop. 

The Innies weren’t keen on weakening the UNSC’s military power in the face of the Covenant, aside from a few more staunch and unflinching groups. Some rumors even said that Insurrectionist forces assisted UNSC naval forces in engagements against the Covenant. John didn’t put a lot of stock in those rumors, and wasn’t with any squads long enough to be convinced of them, but he had never cared regardless. They were terrorists, even if they were terrorists who knew not to push the entirety of the human race to extinction.

“I was born and we were fighting. Frontier rebels from the colonies, terrorists.” John said finally, after a few more seconds of thought, trying to find a way to explain what he wanted to without having to get into it too much. “Bombings on the news when I was young, stolen ships from drydock.”

“Spirits. And then the Covenant came… Just, Spirits take them.” The Turian swore, working to seal up the back of his helmet now, finished with the VI interface he’d been integrating for him. “All done. I integrated it into your helmet’s own suite, the VI will handle the electronics and display itself when you boot it up and your armor should power it. Ran it through the same power systems as the helmet used, after all.”

He nodded, taking the helmet and checking the armored sections to reassure himself, nodding again after a moment, “Looks good.”

“Glad to hear it, Rookie.” The Turian nodded, putting his talons on his waist and stretching to adjust the armored carapace he wore. “Would hate to see you get shot because you don’t have basic protection. Shepard would have a fit if that-”

A beep sounded from his wrist, and he chuckled dryly, “Speak of the dead and join them…” With a flick of a taloned finger, he nodded and looked to the ‘Trooper, “Commander wants us both to get some rest, we’re headed to Sur’Kesh for some kind of pickup. Should be there in the morning, and she needs to know if you’re up for it. Includes a weapon loadout, apparently, unless you plan to carry yours.”

“Not enough ammunition.” He shook his head, grimacing and looking at the weapons. They’d done well against the Reaper forces, and he’d have liked to use them more. But without a reliable source of ammunition, they were as good as clubs after the next magazine was spent.

“I’ll put in for a rifle for you, and a sidearm.” Garrus offered, standing when he nodded appreciatively. “Get some rest, Rookie. I’ll see you when we’re headed ground-side. Hopefully we won’t need to test that kinetic barrier just yet. But, ah, knowing the Commander...”

It would end up getting thoroughly tested, he was sure. She seemed the type to run into trouble at every turn, regardless of if there were turns or not. He didn’t say as much, though, and didn’t think much on it further. Instead he wondered why the Turian seemed so intent on talking to him, he’d not seen the alien soldier work as hard at speaking to the other Alliance soldiers on board the small vessel.

With a shrug, the Shock Trooper eased onto the cot and settled in for some much needed rest. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“So, you’re the one Jane was telling me about.” The scaly, humpbacked creature asked a day and a half later as he and Garrus approached. It turned to the fully armored Commander with a small smirk and said, “Somehow, I thought he’d be bigger. Or have a quad that got into a room before him, from what you said he used to do.”

“He knows?” The Rookie asked, looking away from the towering creature uncaringly and earning an almost derisive snort at the act.

“This is Urdnot Wrex, a representative of the Krogan’s strongest clans, enough to almost represent the entire race, and a military commander involved in efforts to form a united front against the Reaper threat.” Shepard answered crisply, nodding her head at the Krogan when it turned to look at her and growled almost threateningly. “And he’s also a very, very old and trusted friend, John. I would step on a landmine if he said it wouldn’t go off.”

“It true you all dropped on top of your targets in little, metal pods?” The Krogan asked, scaly brow raising curiously when the small, black armored soldier simply gave him a nod in answer and stepped around him to head to the weapons locker. He chuckled, low in his chest and rumbling, and followed after the soldier as he went, asking, “How do you keep from, you know, splatting all over the ground or getting shot on the way down?”

“You cross your fingers and stop being a bitch.” Rookie answered simply, pulling the Avenger in a slot labelled for him from the locker, expanding it and collapsing it a couple experimentally before nodding and laying it across the back of his hips to do the same with the Predator. 

“What kind of soldier does something like that?” Wrex asked coyly, leaning against the weapon locker beside him while he fished out thermal clips and practiced reloading each weapon until he could do it quickly. 

“A Helljumper.” Rookie finally answered, the Krogan snorting and giving Shepard a look. The ODST turned to her once he was satisfied, nodded his head politely, and said, “I’m equipped as ordered, Ma’am. Are there any last-check protocols I need to observe before we deploy?”

“No. We’re a specialist unit, maintaining strict protocols would hinder flexibility in between species and specialists from outside standard Alliance operating fields.” She answered clippedly, “As long as you report a ready status, we can deploy you.”

“Understood.” The soldier responded shortly, turning to Wrex and meeting his eyes - or he thought he was, at least - through the visor and asking, “Do you need anything else, Urdnot Wrex?”

“Do I need…” Wrex came up short, blinked owlishly at the smaller warrior - not soldier, he knew now, this was a warrior in the way he walked, talked and even now the straight way he stood - and then laughed loudly. Enough that several crewmen around the cargo area jumped and turned, a couple instinctively reaching for weaponry, but Wrex didn’t care. Instead, he clapped the ODST on the arm roughly and smiled a wide, toothy smile, “You have a quad, boy. No, John, not boy. You have good taste in squadmates, Shepard, but I knew that already.”

“Because she recruited me.” Garrus joked, sliding a collapsed Viper rifle onto his back as he joined them. The Krogan choked on a low laugh, shaking his head, and the Turian waved a hand at the other alien dismissively and added, “Oh, I’m sorry. You were stroking your overblown Krogan ego again. My bad.”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Turian.” The Krogan growled lowly, the Rookie walking away from them towards the craft without even glancing back. “Krogan Battlemaster armed to the teeth and an armored and armed Turian, looking about to brawl, and we don’t get a glance. Heh, crazy bastard...”

“Knowing him?” The Turian chuckled, shaking his head, “You’re probably not the scariest thing he’s seen. Or maybe you’re just not as scary as you think you are, old man Wrex.” The Krogan shoved him gently, lumbering towards the shuttle, and the Turians laughter died in a small, surprised and undignified squawk, catching himself before he could call and growling, “Son of a bitch…”

The Krogan just laughed over his shoulder, climbing into the shuttle and settling in across from the Rookie and next to Shepard, eyeing him and scratching his jaw slowly in thought and smiling, “Let’s see how you do when the bullets start flyin’, eh?”

“I thought that this was supposed to be a simple pickup operation.” The black-armored soldier remarked dryly, the others in the shuttle exchanging amused glances at the question. Sighing, the trooper crossed his arms and stretched, leaning his head back against the shuttle’s metal wall to wait. 

He was out like a light inside a minute.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“They won’t let us land, Commander.” The pilot said, crackling over the static into the sitting area. “They said we don’t have clearance to land, and that we have to pull back to a set location until they confirm our clearance and the Dalatrass’ orders.”

“No, no Salarian games.” Wrex snarled, standing and shuffling towards the door with a rumbling growl that vibrated in his chest enough that even where he sat the Rookie swore he could feel it. Slamming a fist into the release button and barking a laugh, he called over his shoulder, “Let’s see them stop a Krogan airdrop.”

“Wrex, don’t-” And then he was gone, stepping out of the open hatch and dropping out of sight. Swearing loudly, she turned to the other two in the shuttle and stood, “We’re landing, everyone stay on guard but keep your weapons holstered. I don’t want an incident, but we are not leaving without those Krogan. Understood?”

“Ma’am.” They both answered instantly, the woman nodding and ordering Cortez to land regardless of all of the Salarian’s threats.

“Everyone stand down.” Shepard barked loudly, striding out of the shuttle just before it touched down, stopping next to the Krogan warlord without a care in the world for the lasers dancing across their chests while Rookie and Garrus fanned out behind them. “We have permission to be here from the Dalatrass herself, so what’s the hold up?”

“Commander, please, this authorization just came through a moment ago.” The Salarian guard said, nervously standing in front of Wrex with his Predator levelled at the Krogan. Not that that meant they were safe, given the dancing red dots on their chests, ghosting over visors warningly so they’d see it. “The communications officer didn’t even know yet! It was being sent to her when you were ordered away!”

“We are securing the Krogan females.” Shepard said simply, resting a hand on Wrex’s shoulder and giving him a look through the clear eye slots of her armor before she turned her gaze on the Salarian. “We don’t want an incident to compromise an alliance against the Reapers.”

At her words, the Krogan warlord backed down and relaxed, rumbling at the Salarian, “You’re lucky that Commander Shepard is here, runt, or you’d be meat by now and I’d be on to get my females. With a full stomach, too, heh.”

“Commander, you and your unit are free to move into the facility and retrieve the package.” The Salarian, calm now that the perceived threat had been quelled, mostly ignored the warning growl the Krogan Warlord a few feet away from him let rumble out at that. Or pretended to, at least, John’s eyes catching the slight turn towards the Krogan and twitch of the Salarian’s long fingers in reaction. “There is one slight concern, however, Commander Shepard.”

“I’d bet there is…” She sighed, shaking her head, but asking, “Fine then, what is it?”

“Your Krogan landed in a classified STG research facility without authorization or permission and threatened security personnelle on the premises. He must leave, or stay under heavy guard and disarmed.” The Salarian said simply, Wrex snarling and thudding towards him as the red lasers once again flickered to life, this time painting his hump and forehead in spots of lethal red. The Salarian guard himself took a step back, hand hovering over his sidearm, and looked to the Commander when she stepped in front of the Krogan, “You must understand, Commander, your Krogan-”

“Not my Krogan.” She interrupted, crossing her arms without a care even as a pair of lasers danced across her armor - one on her chest over her heart, the other the side of her head. “He’s a dignitary, and authorized to be here. Do you really want to cause an incident because Salarian intelligence didn’t expect us?”

Which would make it bad intelligence, he knew without her saying. Which meant that the ‘STG’, presumably an intelligence agency on behalf of the Salarian government, had failed to gather exactly that on their coming. Or they were simply impeding a dignitary from another government out of racial spite, which was just as bad a look to have painted on them at the best of times. 

But this was war time, not the best of times to be making enemies. And Shepard knew how to play that, it seemed, just as much as the Salarian commander knew he couldn’t afford either of those accusations reaching the public. It would be the end of his career at best, and his species at worst, if he compromised a chance at alliance now and the Reapers came to Sur’Kesh when they found out there was a significantly weaker opponent to take off the playing field.

“I… Very well,” the Salarian sighed, waving a hand as the lasers flicked off and he relaxed, grimacing and shaking his horned head, “The Krogan may continue in, so long as he stays under control. You and he will be exposed to classified items, do not touch them, interact with them, ask about them-”

“I’m only here for my females.” The Krogan huffed, rolling his shoulders and shifting his entire bulk in the movement, “I don’t give a damn about your stupid experiments and secrets, Salarian. Just let us by already, I have giant monsters to kill for you squishy little scientists. Same old story, I’m sure you know it.”

“Yes, quite well.” The Salarian sighed, shaking his head and waving them in, “Please, this way, Major Kirrahe will-” he stopped, head turning to look out from the base and raising his fist as his Omni-Tool flared to life, “Say last back?”

“What’s happening?” Shepard asked as they followed the Salarian inside and towards the back of the room where they saw an elevator. The alien didn’t answer and, as they rounded the corner and the Salarian ordered the elevator called for them, Shepard grabbed his shoulder and slammed him against the wall by the elevator, “I asked what was going on, and I expect you to give me an answer.”

“Human craft are closing, our interceptors are working to stop them from-” 

The four soldiers knelt and leaned against the wall on instinct as the facility shook and thunder sounded the way they’d come from, some kinds of fighters shrieking by through the valley between the complex halves. A second later, rounds started lancing across the laboratory area and into the wall they leaned against and the unprotected one stretching out to the side from the landing pad they’d come from.

“They’re at the landing pad, your shuttle got out as soon as the craft started to swing back around.” The Salarian answered finally, gesturing at the elevator, “Go up that, you’ll meet a scientists named Mordin Solus, and he’ll escort you the rest of the way and assist you in your exit.”

“Mordin…” Shepard shook her head, leaning against the wall by the Salarian who stood at the corner with the other three spaced out behind her and another Salarian guard with a Predator behind them. “What about you?”

“STG standard operating procedures, Commander.” The Salarian answered, raising his heavy pistol while guards took positions in cover in front of the elevator entrance - and throughout the laboratory area, almost definitely, as well - and rounds lanced over their heads to carve lines in the concrete and paint the wall in greenish blood. “Have to escort surviving scientists to safety, destroy critical data, and that sort of thing. Regardless of risk.”

He watched Shepard over his shoulder for a long second before she finally nodded and spoke, “Understood, and good hunting.” Turning while he leaned out and fired a couple shots before a torrent of return fire forced him into cover, the woman spoke, “Wrex, Rookie, on my flanks when we come out that door. Vakarian, find a vantage point. Understood?”

“Ma’am.” They all answered, even the Krogan among them grunting the words seemingly on reflex or instinct, filing into the elevator when it arrived and deposited two heavily armed and armored Salarians to join the fighting. 

They emerged to a firefight, a Salarian with a larger looking hand cannon in one hand firing rounds at a distant corner and column alternatingly speaking over his shoulder while he typed at a console, “Commander. Good to have you here. Cerberus operatives struck lighter here. Killed scientists and guards, sent a couple more downstairs. Have two more pinned down, expect reinforcements soon however. Then need to move to control panel and bring the female up to the release area.”

“Understood.” She answered, looking over her shoulder, “Wrex, cover Mordin, everyone else with me. We’re on offence, just direct us, Mordin.”

“Would be helpful to have cover.” The Salarian said, giving the mountain of armor known as Wrex a meaningful glance. “Can work faster with two hands. You understand.”

The Krogan grunted, leaning over the computer while the Cerberus soldiers - apparently seeing the stop in fire - leaned out to fire rounds that bounced off the Krogan’s armor or punched into softer flesh under that. The Krogan didn’t seem to care, and the trio spread out around the narrow lab. Automatic fire poured down onto the Cerberus soldiers, ripping into one’s chest and head and throwing it back before the other two got into cover.

“Fire and advance.” Shepard called, her and the ODST taking turns walking forward under automatic fire that carved away at the corners of the cover the Cerberus fighters were using before swapping to reload and advance themselves.

“Target sighted.” Garrus warned, firing a shot that ripped apart the corner of the column near the base, a splash of bright red blood coloring the floor before the operative collapsed with a gurgling scream as his leg gave out. The Viper barked again and his head exploded in a corona of blood and bone, and Garrus spoke again, “Target down.”

Shepard was the one to reach the cover, the soldier coming around with a knife in his hand and one of their rifles in the other, slashing for the Commander. She leaned back, Avenger sending rounds into his stomach at less than a foot of distance and throwing him back, white armor shading red as his knife dropped and he stumbled away. His legs caught on his headless ally and he fell with a flail and rounds that ripped into the concrete and circuitry around them, wheezing in pain before another burst ripped through his helmet and Shepard barked an order to move over her shoulder. 

“Mordin is on the cargo elevator and moving it through checkpoints, we need to clear out the upper levels for him.” Shepard ordered as they moved through the laboratory, the Turian watching the opposite levels carefully as they went. 

“Snipers!” Garrus shouted, rifle snapping up and his body squaring to fire.

The warning came too late, John turning on instinct at the alien’s movement in the corner of his eye and something else he could barely catch just before something heavy slammed into his chest armor and tossed him against the railing behind him hard enough to bend the metal and almost throw him over the edge to fall back to the floor below before Shepard’s hand grabbed the front if his armor and hauled him back and threw him to the floor. 

A better place than standing in a firing zone, he knew, staying there while the woman supported Garrus’ counter-shooting. A moment later it was over, and she helped him up and gave him a once over, “No blood. Are you alright?”

He nodded, and she turned without another word, “Move, people. Waypoint on the ancillary lab around the corner, Mordin will open it on his end when he reached the next checkpoint.”

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

I am learning how to write scenes like this, advice and critique would be appreciated. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Predator 1701 :

He really, really doesn’t.

Jackalope :

Wasn’t Grunt, but he’s a bookmark for the species, I’m sure. I feel Grunt would want to try it out, though.


	4. Chapter 4

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Official Supporters: 

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High Priest, Alvelvnor

Priest, The Impossible Muffin

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Initiate, Greg Gibson

Infiltrator, Voltegeist

If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM one of us for details or join our discord. Server for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, and remember to post a Review/Comment to let me know what you liked and didn’t. 

So, Fanfiction will not let me link to discord. So, I apologize to every single FF reader for this, but please PM me for a join link. And please consider doing so, I enjoy chatting with you lot. On AO3, the link is viable : https://discord.gg/2UZncAm

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Come on guys, please join the discord, I really need that washing machine ~ Voltegeist

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

As a quick note, my X-Box is lost somewhere and I could not find a bloody map of the maps in the game, so if anyone has a proposed solution to these issues, please offer it if possible. As such, however, sections of the map will likely fail to be featured or will be shown out of order.

I apologise sincerely for this issue. If no solution is found, I will use the Mass Effect wikipedia’s synopsis as best I can and simply adapt to the missions as I go along. Which will be fine, really, since this is more a character study story than a rehash of Mass Effect 3 ‘but with an ODST now’.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

The once-sealed door whirred quietly, the sound almost lost in the surrounding sounds of gunfire, and the red light blinked first to yellow for a briefest moment before flashing green to admit them through. John had expected to go first through it, or Shepard to at least, but instead Wrex went roaring through the door just ahead of him, and with blue energy coalescing across his body and rippling out as he charged and a fist came back and then swung forward like he would slug a man in a brawl or back in training.

The blue, electrical energy shot forward like a cannonball, catching a trooper in the side of his chest and hurling him back and into a wall ten feet from where he’d started. He fell limply, leaving blood smeared across the wall behind him in bright crimsons, and the Rookie’s rifle put a burst through his fellow’s unshielded head as he turned to fire on them. The last in the trio on the ground, a Centurion, turned and flinched back under his and Shepard’s combined fire before his shields sparked out and the rounds cracked across his armor until Wrex’ massive looking shotgun roared and ripped the poor soldier’s leg off. Another loud report and he was dead, the Krogan huffing almost boredly. 

The room was a lab, with dead Salarian guards and scientists both, and what looked like reptilian dogs at the base, riddled with holes and laying in a pool of their own blood where the Cerberus soldiers had cut them down. Several tables along the lower part of the room had been overturned, a Salarian corpse in light armor bent backwards over one and the other blown in pieces and scorched black. But, luckily, the Salarian soldiers had done their jobs and the most heavily armored of the troopers, who seemed to have been sporting actual physical shields, had themselves been cut down and laid between the two tables. 

Shepard stopped by one of the unarmored Salarians, a scientist if he had to guess, who had died bleeding against a wall beside a computer interface with a small pistol beside him. “They fought with everything they had rather than retreat…” She spared a glance to the computer and then the rows of cells, some still containing snarling Varren, and added, “They released them on the Cerberus operatives, and what Varren did get out tore them apart..”

“Not this one.” John called from the fallen table, a regular trooper lying dead behind it and riddled with small holes that spoke of equally small rounds. And a lot of them. 

Blood had been splattered across the table as he was shot, small spatters intermittent where rounds had managed to pierce the soldier’s back. Directly from where he’d hit the table and fallen down its tilted surface to lay on the round, he saw the same scientist who had worked to release the Varren according to the Commander. Then he looked up, to a railway above that had been broken and bent out by something, directly above the fallen Cerberus soldier. Under his own boots where he stood above the soldier, he saw scorch marks, and the bottoms of the Cerberus boots sported small holes themselves covered in scorches.

The Salarians were fighting off an attack from above, and the scientist started releasing Varren and forcing them to move. The Cerberus troopers troopers cut through the guard to jump down while some others moved for the stairs and fought the Varren and Salarians both. The scientist and the guards fought on and the scientist died releasing as many Varren as he could and gunning down the trooper. 

Impressive and admirable.

At a barked order from the commander, they formed up into twos, the ODST following at the Krogan’s shoulder towards a door on the second level of the lab. They each took one side of it, Garrus behind the alien warlord and Shepard behind him They could all hear muted gunfire on the other side, and at a signal from the Human Commander the Krogan reached out to hit the holo-button on the door, his own Omni-Tool lighting up for a moment to order it open. 

It swung open and the ‘Trooper swung around the corner with his rifle at the ready, in time to see a shuttle swing into place with Cerberus Troopers aboard, flanking a trio of Salarian guards and cutting them down with automatic fire before they could do more than scramble for cover or to fire back. His rifle and Shepard’s came up, rounds barking forth, but the shuttle pulled away before he could confirm any hits on the Cerberus soldiers. 

At the corner, Shepard leaned as far out as she dared to get a look ahead of them, “Cerberus soldiers are trying to find a way to breach the pod and get at the female Krogan. We have to be fast and precise.”

A round shattered the concrete she was leaning against, sparks and chips of stone flying from it and the rounds to follow. Only a couple rifle’s worth, he wagered, and likely because they didn’t know what was behind the wall. Shepard concurred, it seemed, rushing to issue orders to them. 

“Rookie, flank left through the technical offices and stay low. Wrex, far right, rush through the open and focus your biotics on defense. Not offense. Garrus, here, marksman role while I move through the light cover between Wrex and Rookie.” She didn’t wait for their confirmation, though, knowing that they would obey and had no reason not to hear her orders. 

And spurred on by the rounds no doubt ripping into the barriers protecting the female or Mordin, if they were even separate.

The two soldiers surged out, Wrex with a roar of defiance and a sort of joy, and the Rookie joined Garrus on the corner and waited a moment with the Turian’s claw outstretched until he murmured just loud enough for him to hear, “Go as soon as you’re ready. Don’t worry about a thing while you get to that corner, I have my rifle on your approach. Focus on moving, low and fast.”

“All right.” He said, sinking to a knee and taking a deep and long breath before launching around the corner and into a run like he had so many times. 

Half-crouched, hunched over, eyes raking in every inch of the terrain inside the first few steps. He saw Wrex raise his fists over a Centurion and bring the down with a roar and sipple of biotic power, crunching the man under the weight and power of his blow. Shepard, rising from cover a few feet away from the Krogan warlord and pouring rounds into another Centurion until his shields sparked and he dove for cover as two Troopers behind him rose to suppress her. 

He slid into cover behind one of the upturned and ruined desks ahead of the small technical suites, ensconced under small open-air cells, to catch his breath and double check his approach over the relatively open couple of feet to his objective. Peeking out of the cover, he saw a Cerberus trooper spot him and step out of cover to fire, kneeling a dozen feet from him behind a crumbling and bullet-ridden concrete planter. The man’s head exploded in a shower of ceramic, metal and red viscera, and the shock trooper blinked at the sudden death, almost surprised. 

Almost, but not quite, given Garrus’ proficiency and efficiency.

He stood and resumed his run, ducking into the first of four of the small work-suites and moving through them carefully and quickly. Between the second and third work-suites, he caught sight of Shepard behind cover, heavy automatic fire pouring over her and Wrex both. Enough to force even the Korgan warlord into cover, almost on his hands and knees to shield himself and his exorbitant size from the rounds. Shepard saw him with the odd console behind him, and for a moment their eyes met through their visors before he moved on into the next work-suite. 

At the next gap, when he peeked, he saw the sides of four soldiers using the concrete planters, ruined desks and equipment as cover to fire at his squad. A lighter armored man sat on the ground beside them, leaning against their cover and typing at a display on his Omni-Tool. Directly over his head, as though responding to his commands, the small turret that sat squat in the soil of the planter turned and fired away. Each flick of his fingers and press of an apparent button on the display. His grip adjusted on his weapon and he almost fired on them then and there. 

Instead, he slipped past them into the next work-suite, moving to the next corner and peeking around it. Two more Cerberus troopers, of the thankfully unshielded variety, kneeling and firing away at the kinetic barrier protecting the Salarian doctor and the Krogan female. Slowly, he approached their backs, until he was only a couple feet away and raised his rifle level with the furthest one’s back. Square between his shoulders and just under his neck, the perfect spot. 

Two long bursts of five rounds each ripped into their backs and they fell, one soundlessly and the other with a scream of pain and surprise. Rising before the last had stilled, his sight found the lightly armored soldier’s chest and he sent another burst into it, and then a second when he saw the spark of shields. He half-rose before his shields fell and rounds ripped into his chest and then another, higher caliber one ripped into his back and spun him around. 

His corpse fell as the Rookie turned his sights on the next trooper, turning towards him and opening up on him as the Centurion behind him did the same. He watched his ammo counter lower into the single digits and the trooper fell and cycled to firing the rifle at the next as Wrex and Shepard both rose behind them. Garrus, far away, fired a round into the Centurion’s back as his own shields sparked and died and he felt rounds punch into his armor and started to duck.

He reloaded the Avenger and looked up to see one of the duo of Troopers from earlier on the ground, leveling his compact weapon at his chest, and he swore as his Avenger snapped up instinctively. 

The automatic fire ripped into each of their chests, some sparking off armor, but Rookie felt several rounds punch into his abdomen and fell back. Grunting, he pressed a hand to the flares of pain, and when it came back red he sighed and pressed it back against the flares the act sent up and collapsed his weapon. Drawing his Predator instead, and waiting on his shields to rise, he stood and swept it across the line of now very dead Cerberus soldiers. 

“Status?” Shepard demanded again as they closed, mask alighting on his wound, “You’re hit. How bad?”

“Normal, Ma’am.” He answered, keeping his hand there and glancing to the Salarian for a moment before speaking, “Mission status?”

“Garrus, get over here, I need you to administer Medi-Gel and field trauma care.” She said instead, collapsing her rifle and setting it on her back. Her hand landed on his shoulder, pushing him down, but he needed the order, “Sit, soldier, you’re wounded. Garrus will tend to you and keep you safe while Wrex and I head up top and finish the operation. Understood?”

“Negative.” He said quietly, trying to rise as the Turian too joined them and knelt, a hand on his chest following his forearm to the wound. He spared the alien a glance and then looked back to the Commander, “The wounds are negligible, I can still fight, Commander. Just give me the Medi-Gel and let us continue the mission.”

“Negative.” She responded, rising and looking down on him, “You’re a Systems Alliance soldier, now, and I am ordering you to stand down and receive medical treatment. Do you understand these orders?”

“...”

“John, please. Do you understand your orders?” She asked, her voice less stiff now, almost the way she was on the ship. Finally, after another long and tense second, he sighed and nodded, and she turned to Wrex. “Wrex, on me. Garrus, you have your orders, get him dealt with and then I’ll send for you and him both. Copy?”

“Clear, Shepard.” The alien nodded, looking to him next and asking, “How do I get the chestplate off, Rookie?”

Sighing, the soldier went through the process of helping the Turian get the armor off to get at his wounds. Distantly, as the Turian went about the process of cleaning his wound and applying the medical kit he’d produced from an armored compartment in his armor. Several times, the alien asked if he was in pain and offered numbing agents, and several times the ODST told him he was fine. 

He was more than used to getting shot, it was the questions that got on his nerves.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“He’ll be fine, Commander.” Chakwas said a couple of hours later, Mordin working on a terminal nearby with Wrex leaning on the wall next to it and eyeing him. The shirtless and bandaged soldier made to stand and the old doctor rounded on him, “If he stays in bed, that is. I nearly had to put him under simply to keep him in bed while I did the surgery.”

“John…” Shepard sighed, arms crossed and body language reeking of disapproval. Arms crossed under her modest bust, hip cocked and brow raised questioningly. “You didn’t?”

“I am fine.” He sighed, relaxing against the bed by sheer force of will and little else. He didn’t need to be there, he knew that, but he also knew people like Shepard. She’d keep him there until he was approved to leave, regardless of his opinions on the matter. “I’m sorry for my failure in the mission, Ma’am.”

“What failure?” She asked, sounding genuinely confused. He didn’t answer, simply looking down at his stomach and back to her without a word. Sighing, she turned to Wrex and almost sounded like she was about to laugh when she said, “He actually thinks getting shot on my orders is a failure, Wrexy. You believe that?”

“Must be an idiot then.” The Krogan snorted, shaking his great head and barking a laugh. Speaking to him directly, he explained in a patronizing and very amused sounding voice, “Getting shot isn’t a mistake, dumbass. You had a job to do, and getting shot was part of doing it. You saved the female, little Pyjak.”

“Just did your job, Rookie. S’all you did, and I will not hear anything else on it unless you want to stay in here extra long.” Shepard sing-songed, her mood seeming to return to her now. Nodding, he accepted her words, and she kept on speaking in that same singing tone, smiling widely all the while, “Now, chef’s serving barbecue, and I’m bringin’ you some sammiches, so. How many you want to eat?”

“Three.” He answered, the woman making a clicking noise with her tongue. Almost disappointedly, he noted as she turned and walked from the room. 

“You know, John.” Wrex started, lumbering towards him until the massive lizard loomed over him, red eyes searching his face for fear or something else. Whatever it was, he didn’t find it, and the Krogan gently clapped him on the shoulder and smiled, “I think I’ve settled on ‘crazy’ as being what you are to drop in those little, metal pods the way you did.”

“Shoo, away from my patient.” Chakwas chided, waving the literal warlord away and drawing a rumbling chuckle from him for it. Turning to the soldier, she smiled politely and asked, “Now, mental check, straight from the brass… How are you coping with all of this? Your… Situation, as it were, I mean.”

“My…” Ah, his coming to this universe. That was what she meant, he realized as his throat went dry. Shaking the sudden panic off, he looked at her and simply said, “I am fine, Ma’am.”

“Are you sure?” She asked quietly, putting herself between the busy Krogan and Salarian, laying a hand on his arm comfortingly. “I’m a doctor, John, and I have served onboard Navy vessels for decades. Soldiers aren’t ‘fine’ when they get shot at. You… Did significantly more than just get shot at.”

“I am fine. I have a duty to do.” He said simply, the woman making a face of old patience borne from years and years of service in the medical field. Sighing, he shook his head and added, “Please, Ma’am, I have a job to do.”

“So do I.” She agreed, smiling at him as politely as only a medical professional could manage, “I will let you rest for now, but as the medical officer on board this vessel, I will be calling you in for conversations to ensure that your mental state stays above board.”

“Understood.” Even if he disliked it, such was the protocol. Nodding, she turned and set to work, leaving him to sleep or stare at the ceiling. 

He chose the former. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Sorry for this short chapter, that sodding fight scene was… Ugh.


	5. Chapter 5

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Official Supporters: 

Grand Priestess, Luna Haile - “That’s meeeeee~!” ~ Mika

High Priest, Alvelvnor

Priest, The Impossible Muffin

Priest, Xager the Chaos King 

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Acolyte, Maxentirunos

Initiate, Greg Gibson

Initiate, Gentleman Mad

Infiltrator, Voltegeist

If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM one of us for details or join our discord. Server for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, and remember to post a Review/Comment to let me know what you liked and didn’t. 

So, Fanfiction will not let me link to discord. So, I apologize to every single FF reader for this, but please PM me for a join link. And please consider doing so, I enjoy chatting with you lot. On AO3, the link is viable : https://discord.gg/2UZncAm

If I could trick FF into thinking this is not a link here it is (delete the spaces and turn):  
D iscord . gg (slash) kfhkfUb

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

The rest of his day passed in the bored and aggravating semi-silence of a medical ward, machines around him making their assorted beeps and whirrs as they carried out their functions. All sounds that he was familiar with, from long days and weeks in similar rooms aboard UNSC medical ships and even stations if the injuries called for more intensive treatment to get him back into acceptable fighting condition faster. Normally, that meant surgeries, stimulants to encourage healing, or in some cases he heard of cybernetics being employed on special forces units to get them back against the Covenant sooner. A sad consequence of the war, even if he understood it.

And he had expected the same here, to have treatment pushed through and rushed so that he could be deployed against the Reapers as soon as possible. 

But when Chakwas came in the next day to set to her work, to his surprise, nothing was done to him. She’s checked his bandages, then the machines around him that monitored his condition, and asked how he was. He’d shrugged and she’d nodded, and simply sat down at her console and set to whatever facet of her job she was working on right now. He was simply left be, to heal on his own time and without any intervention from the Normandy crew at all, listening to the idle noises of the medical bay around him and the mess area outside.

“Doctor Chakwas,” he finally started after hours of bored silence, the woman turning to him slightly with a questioning hum, “are you not going to attempt to treat me, so I may be deployed sooner?”

“You have been treated, John. Your wounds were properly cleaned, stitched and bandaged, and you haven’t expressed any complaints of undue pain. Now you’re on bed rest, while your wounds heal.” She said simply, turning and nodding a curt greeting as the Salarian doctor, Mordin came in and moved to his own terminal to set to his work there. Turning back to him, she continued in a lower, “Tell me, what would your ‘UNSC’ do about this kind of injury?”

“Standard treatment procedures include a range of stimulants to speed healing and cybernetic replacements for wounded soldiers to speed them back onto the battlefield where they are needed, accounting for soldier class and skill in the dissemination of the materials for both.” He answered mechanically, old protocol rolling off his lips in the same kind of reaction as being asked to identify himself. 

“Even though such measures aren’t warranted? In your case at least they aren’t, but what you are saying implies you would be put through these measures.” She sounded surprised, and it showed on her face as well. 

Brows rising almost to her hairline and mouth gaping in a small ‘o’ of surprise. On the holographic display, her hands stilled, and when he looked slightly closer he saw she’s stopped in mid-sentence. So extreme treatment methodology for wartime use was something they hadn’t considered here, then. Seemingly so much so as to be something that hadn’t even been considered by the Alliance at the least. 

Interesting, and foolish as well, given the current situation he found the galaxy in.

“In the…” He spared Mordin a look, the alien’s head turning slightly and eyes landing on him for a moment before he smiled and turned fully to them.

“Know about you already. STG forwarded me multiple dossiers on persons aboard Normandy last night. Perused before coming in today. Like to syan informed.” An inhalation of air, either to breathe or simply to force a pause in his speech the Trooper couldn’t tell, but he moved on a moment later with his hands clasped in front of him. “If it helps, I did not read any personal details or suppositions forwarded to me.”

“Personal details?” He asked quietly, head tilting to the side as he looked over the Salarian in a context that wasn’t bordering on violence. 

Stiff, but the Salarian’s eyes were soft and he smiled gently. Hunched as well, but he couldn’t tell if it was biology or not, since he only had two examples including the doctor of the Salarians simply standing around. Rather than occupying cover or getting shot at, that is. A ‘horn’, he didn’t know what it was technically called, was missing and his face scarred as well. 

A soldier, then, of some kind.

“Salarian STG agents found out about you shortly after you were encountered. Set to work finding out who you were. Understandable, considering the ship you are on and its history.” Shepard, he meant, and the things the Normandy had gotten into over the last four years or so. “When lack of records were found, agents… Accessed Alliance network servers and found it there. Or rather, who you really are.”

“Understandable, given the situation.” Still, his hand curled into a fist beside him at the thought of an alien agency of some kind having access to human networks like that. A breach like that in the Human-Covenant war and Earth would have been a ball of glass inside a month.

“See you are tense. No threat is there, I assure you. Special Tasks Group gathered the information they needed and plugged holes in server security.” He smiled pleasantly at the bed-ridden, albeit begrudgingly, soldier. “Then STG agents planted information in key personnel’s offices and accounts to see the holes more thoroughly dealt with.”

“Hm.” He shrugged, satisfied as he could hope to be by the answers, and turned to the human doctor. “The nature of the Human-Covenant war meant that supplies were strained. As well, soldiers not on the field fighting meant lost ground and dead civilians. Marines were expected to shoulder on most injuries, unless a limb was non-functioning.”

“And I suppose that was the same for your unit?” She sounded displeased, but the curiosity there was genuine as well. An honest question, then, even if she was almost definitely not going to enjoy his answers. 

“No, Ma’am.” He answered simply, “If an ODST’s firing arm was crippled, he was expected to shoulder the weapon on the other side and muscle through it. We were trained for it, and issued nerve-deadening agents to assist with it.”

“That… That’s paramount to ordered self-harm. Suicide, even. What manner of doctors would even design such a drug?” She asked, sounding shocked now. He spared a glance to the Salarian curiously, and he too looked shocked at the information. 

“The kind whose worlds had burned, along with billions of people.” He answered frankly with a shrug. The woman blinked, actually staggering a step back, before her eyes softened and she smiled weakly. A face etched in emotion he knew well enough, and emotion that he despised more than any other.

Pity.

The word caused his teeth to grind as she spoke, voice soft and weak, “I-I am so sorry, that you had to-”

“Don’t apologize for what you didn’t do.” He growled, more animosity than he meant to show coming through in the words. But he couldn’t force himself to care right now, blood roaring as he added bitterly, “Suicide missions were common enough. You can’t go out to fight what we did and believe you’re coming back.”

“How do you even begin to handle that?” Chakwas asked, watching him closely for… Something. He didn’t know what, though, and didn’t care enough to think about it. It wasn’t his job.

“We managed it.” He shrugged simply, avoiding her eyes and adding in a quieter voice, “Your soldiers will start doing the same, soon. And your command will start ordering them out to die in droves, just like mine did.”

“How can you know that?” Chakwas asked simply and quietly, again watching him for something he couldn’t place. 

“Human nature is to knock the teeth out of what’s killing you, not run from it when you know it won’t matter.” He answered simply, gesturing at the expanses of skin not covered by the medical blanket or bandages and instead covered by scars. 

The rest he let her fill in herself, and after a second of silence she spoke, “I see. Thank you for your candor, Mister Doe. I will see the notes for this made available to you and command staff both.” She smiled, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously, which prompted her to explain, “This was the first of our little conversations, John. Impromptu, to get a cold water gauge on how you answer questions off the cuff, as it were.”

“You could have informed me.”

“Standard psychological vetting technique.” Mordin called, turning back to the console he was working at before as he did. “Cold-water testing allows the tester to gauge standard personal responses. If warned, you would answer in ways that were non-compromising to you. Subconsciously or not.”

“Hm.” He grunted, shrugging after a second and returning to staring at a spot on the wall he’d found a while back. 

The tactics they’d used tasted a bit too ‘spook’ for his tastes, but given some of the jobs he’d run in the past himself, he wasn’t really one to talk. Noot without a few dozen more doses of hypocrisy than he was necessarily prepared to put himself through. Especially given that the answers he’d given were already on record and he couldn’t do more than argue the principle of the matter. And lose, he knew, to two medical professionals in a universe whose rules and principles he didn’t know.

Besides, that would have been another conversation, and he was already exhausted of talking so damn much.

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The rest of the day passed quietly, thankfully, until Chakwas stretched and stood, giving him a look and waving a hand at his bed, “I’m retiring for the evening. There is a button on your bed’s side that will send a request to me for attention if you need anything. I hope you enjoy your evening.”

He nodded, watching her turn and walk from the room with the Salarian doctor behind her, and sighed as the lights dimmed and the windows darkened. Presumably so he could rest without the bright glare of the fluorescents beating down on his face the entire time. A good idea, if that was the intent behind it, but just as likely was that it was meant to simulate the ship’s schedule and force him to keep it even while idling. Still a good idea, he knew, just a bit less charitable than the first one.

Regardless, it meant quiet time that he could just enjoy, possibly time he could devote to researching the Systems Alliance and seeing what they were truly about and how they ran, or maybe even a nice, solid nap. He loved his-

“Good evening, sick baaaay~!” He sighed as the door opened and Shepard bounced in, grinning from ear to ear with a long-suffering looking Garrus behind her, his face in his hands while his talons ran along his jaw tiredly. Seeing neither give the reaction she’d desired, whatever it was, she sighed and rolled her eyes, “God, you guys are a tough crowd. Here I was being funny.”

“No, it was hilarious, Jane. Absolutely the most humorous thing you could have said. Promise, don’t let us not wheezing on the floor trick you into thinking for even a second that you aren’t the funniest thing on the ship.” Garrus deadpanned, stepping past her while she glared petulant daggers at his armored back as he went. He stopped at the foot of the Trooper’s bed and gave him a nod, “How are you doing, Rook?”

His chest was sore, his head ached from the bright lights, and he was aggravated to be made to stay here when he had a kit to see to repairing and weaponry to see about customizing if he could. “I’m fine. Just want to get to work.”

“On?” Shepard asked, the uniformed commander plopping down at the foot of his bed, nudging him to the side so she could stretch her legs out beside him, her toes almost touching his shoulder. 

“Shepard…” Garrus sighed, giving her a sideways look, spiny and alien brow raising chidingly at her. 

“What? He got shot in the chest, not the legs or his arm or nothin’.” She poked his shoulder with a shoe and he rolled his eyes, giving her another half-inch of space without a word. “See? He’s fine, he’d say somethin’ if I was botherin’ him. Don’t be such a Turian about stuff all the time, Garrus.”

“I kind of am a Turian, Jane.” He sighed, giving the other human a look and waving a hand at her, “Does that count as racist? I kind of think it counts as racist, to tell someone not to be ‘Turian’. Am I crazy?”

He simply shrugged and she laughed, reaching over her shoulder to punch the Turian in the hip, “Garrus, you don’t get to ask if you’re crazy. Didn’t you go to a crime-station and piss off every gang on it once?” He groaned, looking toward the ceiling and shaking his head slowly, and she turned a mirthful gaze on the shock trooper instead, “He did, you know. Pissed off every gang there, and their mercenaries too. Why, if it wasn’t for little old me, I don’t know what would have happened.”

“I’d have kept my pretty face intact?” He tried, gesturing at the ugly scar that marred the side of his face. The Turian saw him looking and sighed before he explained, “Okay, before she says anything, I may or may not have… Kind of… Gotten shot in the face with a missile, on Omega. A little bit.”

“Oh he totally got blasted, Rook.” Shepard made a blooming motion with her hands, smiling good naturedly, and mimicked the sound of an explosion like a child might. “He couldn’t laugh straight for like, two months after that. Not without popping any stitches, at least. Must have been hard to manage around my comedic genius, eh, Garrus?”

“Somehow, I managed. I don’t know how. Maybe the Spirits saw fit to bless me with self control for a while.” He remarked dryly, the woman rolling her bright eyes and shaking her head. Grinning, he added, “Jokes like yours ought to be weaponized, though, Shepard. Maybe you could laugh the Reapers to death.”

“I’ll send a message to Hackett, see what he says of your plan, Garrus.” She held her hands up, fingers like a picture frame and smiling at the bedded soldier, “‘Laughter Cures Reaper War.’ Sounds good, eh, Rook?”

“Not really.” He grunted quietly, laying his arms across his wounded chest. He was on a ship commanded by a crazy woman… Wonderful. “Commander, may I be-”

“Nope.” She interrupted before he could actually ask, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis. “Chakwas says you’re staying right her in the medbay, and on an Alliance ship the head medical officer outranks everyone else. So no askin’ mommy for something when daddy already said no, okay, sweetie?”

“Wait, are you the mom there?” Garrus asked quietly, sounding confused. “Because, uh, you don’t seem exactly the ‘maternal’ type.”

“Hey, I have a whole bunch of little ‘uns, young man.” She chided, wagging a finger up at the taller Turian warningly. “Between you, Miri, Jack and God almighty, Kasumi, I have adopted every troublemaker this side of the galaxy. Or feels like it at least. So yeah, I’m the mom.”

“And Chakwas is the dad?” The Turian chuckled, the sound clicking in his throat almost threateningly. Shepard nodded and the Turian clicked his tongue - or something in his jaw, at least - and snorted a laugh, “I don’t see how she’s the dad but you’re the mom, Shepard. You’ll have to explain that one to me.”

“You don’t do anything that I tell you even half the time, but Chakwas can ground you easily enough. And when Chakwas says to do something, everyone on this ship does it. Now don’t they?” Shepard explained simply, pointing at her own chest, “That makes me the mom, good natured and indulgent, and Chakwas is the dad with the belt over his knee. Follow me?”

“Yeah, yeah, alright, Momma Jane.” The Turian laughed when she turned a glare on him, dodging out of the way when she tried to whack him, and looked at the ODST with a Turian smile on his face. “I hope you don’t mind, but while you were in here I patched the hole in your under-suit. The damage wasn’t that bad, but I wanted to make sure it was still sealed. The actual armor was fine, though.”

“Thanks.” He was used to others patching up his suit for him, even if he wasn’t used to aliens doing it. 

“Hey, we get that it’s weird for you, working with aliens. But… Thanks.” Shepard said quietly, suddenly serious, as she nudged his shoulder again and offered a small smile. “You’re trying, trying really hard, to not let it get to you. And I can tell you have to try.”

“It’s hard to see, but easy enough to catch if someone watches you for a few minutes when I’m not around.” Garrus explained easily, gesturing at John himself like he was proof of what the Turian was saying. “Whenever I’m around, you tense a bit. Not much, but… Just a bit. You do it when any alien gets close to you. You walk a little straighter, like you’re expecting them to do something.”

“Sorry.” And he meant it enough, too, surprisingly. “I don’t mean to.”

“We know, that’s why we’re… You know, hanging out.” Shepard explained with a shrug, smiling all the while. Like this was normal for her, or she was amused by it, he couldn’t tell really. A strange woman, able to take all of this in stride and smiling the way she had been since he met her. 

Though now she seemed off, somehow. Anxious as she spoke, her smile slipping so slightly he almost didn’t notice it. “Way I figure it, if you spend enough time around aliens, friendly ones, then maybe you… Start to trust them. I-I know that it’ll always be, you know… Hard. But…”

“You trusted me to watch your back on Sur’Kesh.” Garrus pointed out, as much for the suddenly anxious woman as for the trooper himself. He made a face and sighed, shrugging his broad alien shoulders, “I mean, that ended up with you getting shot, though, so… Maybe I could pick a better example. But I like to think it at least shows you’re willing to not see everything non-human as the same thing.”

“And maybe we’re, you know, wasting time even mentioning it.” Shepard pointed out, smiling good naturedly at him, “But we wanted to say thanks for, you know, trying so hard. It means somethin’ to me, when my team works on getting along. Especially when they have reasons not to try.”

He just nodded, unsure of what to actually say, and Shepard clapped her hands, “Now then, waiter dear, fetch me and the wounded man something tasty to eat, will you?” The Turian made a show of looking over each shoulder, turning around, and then looking back to Shepard and pointing a talon at himself questioningly and Shepard giggled, “Yes, you, idiot. Go on, get, we’re hungry.”

“From mercenary killer to waiter, what a job change…” The Turian sighed, waving a hand over his shoulder and stomping away in faux-anger. “Fine, I’ll get your food, but you’re both getting crackers!”

“If you can find any!” Shepard teased, the Turian hesitating at the door and calling back.

“You better not forget to tip, either! Galaxy’s hard on a simple waiter like myself, you know.” He laughed, the door sliding closed a second later, and John sighed when Shepard made absolutely no move to get off his bed. 

So much for a nice nap…

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

The next morning he woke early, as he always did, and expected to find the medical wing empty. He always woke early enough that he beat out both doctors, and usually saw the standing nurse well before his time to head out came. He didn’t need much sleep, and his internal clock woke him up early enough to be able to run before his fellows for whatever reason he might need to.

So when instead he found Wrex, leaning against the wall beside Mordin’s console with an arm out while the Salarian cut small patches of flesh from it, he was a bit surprised. The two aliens saw him and nodded, almost mirroring each other in the gesture, as they went about their work for several blissfully silent minutes until Mordin was seemingly satisfied and offered to bandage the small wounds.

“Bah, save your napkins, doc.” The Krogan waved him off, marching heavily towards the bed that the ODST lay in and calling over his shoulder - or hump, the Trooper decided would be more accurate, given his biology. “And you’d be wastin’ time, too. You got a plague to cure, after all. Besides, little scratched like this will heal up in a few minutes.” 

“Krogan regeneration factors.” Mordin said without looking over his shoulder, for John himself if he had to guess. And for obvious reasons, given his current situation. “Capable of regenerating very rapidly. Incredibly dangerous in combat. Also, useful in healing from tissue sample harvesting, as it stands.”

“Yeah, doesn’t mean you need to get near as excited with that damn scalpel as you do…” The Krogan growled, shaking his great head and speaking to the soldier, “He’s a crazy bastard, but useful enough. How you holdin’ up, Rookie?”

“Fine. Like yesterday and the day before.” He answered simply, the Krogan humming in amusement. 

“Didn’t you get shot the day before yesterday?” The Warlord huffed when he didn’t answer, smiling in an odd kind of amusement. “Getting shot doesn’t seem to bother you, though. One of the only humans I know has to be ordered to hold still with bullets still inside them.”

“UNSC combatants are expected to suffer injury and perform their duties regardless. A few bullets in the abdomen should have seen me finish the mission, and be treated after.” He explained simply, the Krogan humming as he spoke. 

“I heard about the war you came from. Have to ask for my own curiosity and Eve’s, the female you helped save, got anything like Krogan in it?” He spread his arms to give him a look, smiling in as friendly a way as something his size and covered in armor and thick hide could manage. “Big, strong, angry ‘n dangerous. Not too bright, though, a lot of the time.”

“Brutes.” He answered quickly, understanding where the Krogan was going with his line of questioning. “Large, ape-like creatures. Every weapon they have has a blade affixed to it somewhere, usually, and they prefer projectiles that maim rather than outright kill. They also sometimes wield heavy hammers with gravity engines in them.”

“Sound like battlemaster weapons, a bit.” The Krogan grunted, cracking his knuckles absently and relaxing against the wall. “I don’t use ‘em myself, but some krogan warlords wield heavy hammers. They put biotics through it when they swing, gives it a bit more punch. I prefer ranged biotics, though, or to use my shotgun.”

“I know.” He said simply, gesturing at his bandaged chest. “I was on a deployment with you. I saw you fight.”

“That you did, that you did.” He chuckled, the sound rumbling into John’s bed almost enough to make it shake itself. Not quite, though, and instead he felt the frame vibrate slightly from the bass sound rumbling from the alien. “So, how do you kill your ‘Brutes’, then?”

“You fire bullets until they die, or blow them up. Unless you have a high caliber marksman weapon and can obliterate their skull.” He deadpanned simply, and the Krogan couldn’t stifle the bark of laughter at the simple and frank answer. 

“True enough of Krogan, too. We’re tough beasts, hard to kill. I heard you been readin’ up on your ‘Tool. You read about Krogan biology?” He shook his head, he’d been too busy on history and politics to read about biology yet. Most he just inferred from size, stature and armaments preferred. “Redundant organs, thick hide, regeneration factors like the ‘good’ doctor,” he used his fingers to put quotes around the ‘good’ part and smirked at the Salarian’s displeased face, “told you, and blood rage.”

“Blood rage?”

“You hurt us enough, we go ballistic.” He explained, seeming rather happy to talk about such things. “I’ve seen Krogan lose all their limbs in a blood rage and start trying to bite whoever came near. Makes pain vanish like nothin’, and makes Krogan stupid too. You see one get lit up a bit and roar, see his eyes go glassy, you put everything you got into his crest,” he gestured at the armored front of his head so John would know what that was, “and hope he goes down when his brain does.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Felt like talkin’ about something that isn’t the damn Genophage.” He shrugged, and then sighed when the ODST raised a brow in question. “Plague cooked up by the Salarians and Turians, spreads sterility among Krogans. Most births are still born, and gods if you ever hear the wailing of a young Krogan woman when she has her first still birth. And no,” Wrex said when Mordin turned to speak, “I don’t want to hear about it ‘being needed at the time.’ Not right now.”

“Know when I am not wanted. Will not push issues around sensitive lab equipment.” Mordin said simply, raising his hands in surrender and continuing to work while he hummed a happy tune to himself. 

“Anyways, I… Kind of understand why they used it, but it rings a bit hollow when your species is in danger of extinction as a result of shit you weren’t at fault for.” He gave the dimension hopper a small smile, nodding his head sympathetically at him, “I bet you know all about that, though. Eh, Pyjak?”

“Everyone pays for things they didn’t do.” He shrugged, frowning slightly and adding, “Just depends on what the payment is.”

“True enough, true enough. For the record, I have respect for you and yours. Takes balls to lose like you were and just fight harder for it rather than give up. I can understand that kind of drive, the kind of people that can do that.” Wrex sighed, letting them fall into a comfortable silence for a few minutes. 

And wasn’t it strange that an alien warlord, of all things, was who he could relate to the most? Still, gift horse and its mouth, as the saying went. He could appreciate company that got it, regardless of species.

“So, Rookie.” Wrex finally started after a few minutes, “What do you say I exercise some of my ‘diplomatic immunity’ and jailbreak you for a bit? Let you stretch your legs, ‘til Shepard comes down and kicks our quads in for it.”

“John is injured, she won’t hit him.” Mordin pointed out cheerily, “Will likely just hit you twice instead.”

“Bah, I can take it.” He laughed, slamming a fist into an open palm and grinning at the wounded soldier. “What do ya say, Pyjak? Want me to take you on a walk?”

After a moment’s consideration, he nodded and the Krogan laughed again. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Shepard watched the Krogan sneak out with her newest stray and smiled, leaning against the wall next to Liara’s office with Chakwas behind her. Clicking her tongue, the doctor asked, “Is letting him wander around really necessary, Shepard? He’s still injured, you know. He should stay in bed for another day at least.”

“Let him be, Doc.” She said quietly, giving her a small and knowing smile. “He’s bonding with Wrex. And that’s something important. He needs to get settled in here, you know? And having friends is a big part of our happy little fucked up family.”

“I suppose.” Chakwas sighed, slapping her on the arm as she stepped by, “If he pops a stitch, you’re going to need stitches. Understood?”

“Yes, Dad.” She quipped, dodging out of the way of another slap and laughing quietly. “Go on, now, you got your medical bay back. See if Mordin needs any help, yeah? Getting that cure up and running is critical.”

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Halo Star Wars X Over Fan :

Actually, UNSC weaponry - at least common line weaponry like ARs and BRs - is rather low tech. Nothing special, even compared to modern weaponry in the real world. Compared to the ease and lower cost of just using ME weaponry, he wouldn’t have much choice. While yes, the Alliance could outfit him with ammunition and maintenance tools, they have no reason to.

Especially in a time of war when they are likely working to field as many fighters as possible, not outfit single individuals with more expensive weapons that would do the same job. Even his SMG wouldn’t be much different from, say, a Locust or something like that. And the cost to use it would be exorbitant compared to those more conventional weapons

Finally, the Citadel doesn’t *have* rules against cybernetics. Every standard Marine in the Alliance gets them, and gene mods too. Their rules end with AI technology and robotics, as well as experimental cybernetics that are dangerous. Otherwise, Shepard would be illegal, as would Garrus cybernetic mesh that was used to heal his face. There are even entire units of Asari with cybernetics augments and Biotic enhancements to let them use Black Widow rifles. 

SD Phantom 10, Predator 1701 :

Yeah, gunfights aren’t my specialty. I’m working on it, though.


	6. Chapter 6

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(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“Standard Alliance procedure for specialists like you, you get issued your own weapon and can modify it however you like. Or buy a new one, if you save up wages to do it.” Cortez explained tiredly, handing him the Avenger he’d used in the mission on Sur’Kesh and gesturing at a workbench beside his own work-station with a tired wave. “You can use this to maintain your weapon or install upgrades or modular attachments, and I can issue working tools if you want to do it in your quarters. The console next to mine connects through Alliance supply networks to Citadel centers. You can order pretty much whatever you want, though that has a bit of a markup attached to it.”

“Because of the war.” The ODST as much said as asked, laying the rifle on the table and pulling up a stool to sit on while he worked. 

“Supply chains are strained as hell, yeah, and getting stuff sent out to us in the field means ships not ferrying troops or supplies elsewhere.” Cortez agreed simply, turning back to his own console to set to work now that the other soldier had been brought up to speed on the subject. “I have work to get done on the shuttle still, took some knocks on Sur’Kesh from those fighters, but let me know if you need anything.”

“I will.” He said shortly, using his Omni-Tool to interface with the workbench and bring up a holographic display of the Avenger’s schematics on the back end of the workbench. 

First step was first, disassembling the rifle and laying the parts out meticulously from left to right in order of function and size, pulling the solid metal ammo block from the loading mechanism and laying it beside the skeleton of the weapon with the Mass Effect engine left where it was. 

He wasn’t going to pretend to know how to work on that, so best to leave it and its casing alone entirely before he blew his fingers off. Once that was done, he set to checking each piece in turn for even the tiniest speck of dirt or grime or fault he could see, again and again until he was satisfied completely and moved to the next. 

“Heya, Rook.” He turned his head to give Shepard a nod as she joined him, dragging a bench up next to the side of the table and watching him work on piecing the weapon back together again, “What’cha doin’?”

“Familiarizing myself with my new equipment issuance, Ma’am. And installing upgrades that the Turian suggested to me as well.” He explained simply, carefully screwing the new heavy barrel he’d gotten into the open hole for the barrel. 

“Works. Heavy barrels pack a helluva lot of kick, though.” Shepard warned, folding her arms on the end of the workbench and laying her cheek on it, watching him working industriously and matching it with laziness. “Did you put in some inertial dampeners to help account for it? Cuz that’s what Vega did when he put heavy barreling in his rifle.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Cool, inertial dampeners help you normies keep shootin’ straight instead of carvin’ a silhouette into the wall behind the bad guys.” She raised a hand, clenching it in a fist and flexing jokingly, “Cybernetics from when I kind died a little bit for a year or a couple, means I’m a bit tougher than your average sexy, redheaded, borderline psychopathic commando.”

“That story is true?” He asked as his working hands slowed where they were piecing the casing of the rifle back together, knowing what she was referring too. 

He’d read up on it while in the medical bay, partially because every search of ‘Commander Shepard’ talked about it, and knew she had supposedly died years ago and then somehow come back to life almost a year and a half previous. And while he’d rejected the claims as fantasy borne of any number of purely factual events being misunderstood and exaggerated far out of proper proportions by civilians who couldn’t be expected to know anything better, a covert posting or operation both likely answers as to what would motivate that, Shepard had just hinted at its truth and now he had to know and the topic seemed to be the source of her bad mood.

His training had bred an inquisitive mind, and when teased, it demanded answers.

“Yeah, Collectors attacked the old Normandy years ago and blew the poor girl to bits. Ended up spaced, with a rupture in my O2 system, and passed out ‘fore I fell into a planet’s gravity well and mostly burned up.” She sighed, feigning a lack of caring for the matter that his trained eye saw through. With a snort, she added in a humorous tone, “Prolly looked like a charcoal briquette when Miri and those Cerberus assholes scooped me up and started puttin’ me back together.”

It bothered her, he could see it and hear it both. Her voice rose in pitch and strained, and she sat stiffer than she had before for a second before she relaxed again, both in reaction what she was saying. And that did double duty in confirming what she was saying was true, because innate stress about something was hard to fake and she had no reason to come and lie to him about this. 

And he had no idea what to say to that, and so stayed silent and continued to work instead. 

“Not tryin’ to freak you out, Rook, promise.” She said after a few minutes of silence, a sharp eye turning to her again. She thought he didn’t believe her, or something of the like at least. “Garrus said I should tell you about it, since we’re… Going to be fighting cerberus a lot going forward. Better for ya to find out from the cybernetic zombie freak’s mouth, you know?”

“Acknowledged.” He answered simply, nodding his head at the woman and continuing his work on the rifle. 

“Everyone else gives me a hard time for it. Speak freely, John, I don’t like my crew to keep their opinions secret.” She pushed, curiosity underlining her quiet words along with a kind of seriousness he didn’t tend to see outside missions or other important settings. 

“I don’t care.” He explained with a bored shrug, waving a hand at her, “Whatever you are, you have the bars. I don’t know enough to have any opinion worth anything outside that, Ma’am.”

“That simple, huh?” She asked, eyebrow rising with the question. He simply nodded and she snorted, rubbing the back of her neck with a hand and cocking her hip with the other resting on it, “Well, I figured this would be more of a thing than it was. But I guess you’ve probably seen and done shit just as weird, huh?”

Another quiet nod as he worked, finishing up the weapon and collapsing it with a pleased nod before he sat it aside and she continued, “Well, uh… Glad to hear it, Rook. We’ll be docking at the Citadel tomorrow morning, and after that it’s only a week’s travel to Tuchanka. I need you prepared by then, so I need to know if you need anything while we’re on the Citadel, because Tuchanka doesn’t exactly have strip malls.”

“I only need orders, Ma’am.” He answered simply, and the woman actually smirked at the words.

“On that, Rook, you don’t need to ask me.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, smiling roguishly the whole time. “Garrus and I are pairin’ off with Liara to run as one strike team, and I’m giving you and Vega to Wrex to run other ops for the Krogan while we’re there. Need someone screening lower priority strike operations for the old dinosaur. Square your gear and report to him.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He nodded respectfully, giving the burly hispanic a sideways glance curiously. He was shaped like a barrel, and was inspecting heavy looking armor as well, and he understood why he’d been stationed with them. “Vega…”

Heavy strike force, he could tell it already, between the warlord, the hispanic man covered in armor to make a Spartan blush, and himself they weren’t exactly suited for assassination operations.

“Gonna be good with that? Wrex asked for you specifically, and I tacked Vega on for some adding hitting power since I won’t be needin’ him on my ops.” Shepard asked, laying a hand on his shoulder gently, almost cautiously even, and watching his reaction when he stiffened at the sudden contact. “I can give your team Garrus if you prefer. Though, uh, Krogan and Turian can be a bad mix for a team even if they’re friends without me around to keep ‘em in line.”

He took a breath, forced himself to relax as best he could, and used picking up his rifle and heading towards his locker as an excuse to break the contact when that didn’t work in calming his sudden spike in nerves, “It’s fine, Ma’am. I’ll get my kit prepared properly armor and head to Wrex immediately for his briefing.”

“Jus’ come with me, John.” She said instead, bouncing past him energetically and smiling as she made her way towards the elevator backwards with her hands behind her head again as she had done before during his ‘tour’. “He’s waitin’ on poker night anyways, so you can meet him there and spend some time with the team.”

“I don’t play poker.” He deadpanned simply, following her regardless because he knew he wouldn’t win the argument.

“Then I guess I’m ‘bout to make some serious credits.” She cheered at the door slid closed and she elbowed the button with a smirk. “Momma needs a new pair of gauntlets, though, so ‘least your pay’ll go to a good cause. Right?”

He elected not to mention his interrogation training, instead smiling thinly and shrugging, “If you make it an order…”

“Oh, I do, tall, dark and extra-dimensional. Think of it as the most official order you ever heard.” She joked, eyebrows wiggling teasingly at the playful words. “Think you have what it takes, playin’ with the big kids? Lil’ warnin’ for ya’, Rook, but I picked out the game myself.”

“I’ll do my best.” He assured her, and normally he knew he would have fought harder against gambling. Good as he was, even if he was kind of cheating if he were honest about it, he’d never enjoyed gambling.

But Shepard’s mood had lightened, and he couldn’t bring himself to ruin it because he didn’t like the game she’d picked out.

“How… I don’t understand… I’m the best damn Hold ‘Em player this side of the Rachni Wars.” Shepard whined weakly about an hour later, forehead resting on the metal folding table and hands pulling at her hair as the Turian cleaned up from their game. Rolling her head to the side, she glared petulantly at the ODST next to her over the top of her pale arm, “How did you beat me?”

“Training.” He said simply, shrugging and accepting the pile of little, silver chips that he’d been told were the physical versions of credits that the Alliance had aboard their ships for personnel use.

“You kind of screwed all of us there, Jane. Thanks for that, lost my damn Ryncol fund...” Wrex growled, clearly just as dissatisfied by losing but seemingly much more amused at the pouting Spectre. “Would’ve done just as good challenging a damn Quarian to a math contest.”

“I didn’t know I brought a friggin’ spy or whatever the frack they trained you to even be to our poker game!” Shepard flailed, sagging in her chair with her arms hanging down the sides and head laying over the flimsy metal headrest. “Wrex, just… Tell him about your damn missions already, while I try to sew my damn pride back together… And my wallet, now that I think about it.”

“Cerberus has a few locations on Tuchanka under their control,” the Krogan started simply, smiling almost viciously as he went on, “and Clan Urdnot needs some political wins, too. So you, me, and the blue walking barrel with the loud mouth down in the ‘hold get to go on some nice, simple missions.”

“Go in, shoot some assholes, be the big damn heroes, maybe take some pictures, and leave to go do it again.” Garrus explained, sounding oddly jealous before sighing and adding, “I remember when that was all I had to do… None of this political crap.”

“Classified political crap.” Shepard corrected, pointing a finger at him and wagging it at him chidingly. “Gotta use the proper words, Vakarian, or the new Primarch might court martial you or… Something. Whatever Turians do to each other.”

“I can answer that, hehe.” Wrex growled, laughing low in his chest hard enough that the rumbling made the table John leaned against vibrate. 

“No, no, fucking Spirits, no. Nuh uh.” Garrus cut in, waving his talons distractingly, pointing one threatening talon at the Krogan warlord. “You do not get to explain anything about Turian culture, Wrex. You are the last person on this ship that should be educating our new friend here about literally anything Turian.”

“Maybe you should tell him about ‘reach and flexibility’, eh, Garrus?” Shepard teased with a wide grin and mirthful, sparkling green eyes, the ODST blinking in confusion at the alien’s suffering groan and the laughter from the other two echoed in the room.

He very much regretted coming to poker night now.

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Short little segue chapter, because next chapter is more god damn gunfights…. Yay.... Woo… Someone, shoot me. Please. Sorry for the short length, I know it bugs everyone when something is short - just ask my ex - but the literal next scene is a long ass combat operation. And I generally try to keep chapters focused and on topic, so this wouldn’t have fit into those combat sets.

So, sorry.

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Monsieur Mole :

Glad to hear it, hope this short chapter doesn’t disappoint terribly.


	7. Chapter 7

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“Shepard is heading off to deal with some Turian strays a few hundred miles south of here. Apparently, they decided to play dodge the wrench with a damn Reaper or somethin’ and got their asses blown out of the skies.” Wrex explained with a dry and vindictive chuckle as the shuttle flew through Tuchanka’s long torn skies, shuddering slightly as the wind currents shifted and buffeted along the hull. “We get to head to an old Blood Pack facility for a raid, clear out some… Uncooperative Krogan leftovers of Clan Weyrloc and a couple other minor clans and secure it for Urdnot and the Krogan Coalition.”

“Uncooperative?” He had a feeling he knew what the warlord meant, but it was worth asking anyways to be sure. 

“Krogans too damn dim to see the way the wind is blowing, and holing up in places I need to fight the Reapers on Tuchanka.” The Warlord answered frankly, shrugging and sighing almost tiredly. “In the way, and they won’t do a damn thing I say, so we gotta make ‘em get out of the way. Permanently.”

“You mean that in the ‘getting them on your side’ kinda way, or the ‘buryin’ ‘em out back’ kinda way?” Vega asked, rolling his shoulders with his Katana held against his chest, leg bouncing on his far side from the rest of the fire-team. Nerves before a mission, probably because he knew he’d be fighting the notoriously hard to kill Krogan. But he cracked a cocky smile anyways and asked, “Need to know, hombre lagarto.”

“My damn translator works just fine, you know. Damn humans and their damn languages...” Wrex huffed, chuckling under his breath and shaking his great head. Rolling his armored shoulders he gave the ODST a meaningful look for a moment before cracking a wide grin, “You looking forward to gettin’ shot again?”

“Hm.”

“Heh, no need to act that way, Rook.” The Krogan chided gently, barking a harsh Krogan laugh when the ODST simply shrugged and went about checking his armor, pockets and rifle mechanically. “Anyways, what I’m trying to say is that you need to watch out. Vega and I have fought Krogan before, me a few more times than him of course, but still. We know what to expect out of a fight with ‘em. Do you?”

“I read the Alliance briefings on Krogan.” He shrugged noncommittally, neither claiming to know how to deal with them or saying he couldn’t. His higher caliber ballistic barrel should be enough to make the Alliance’s recommendation of ‘unloading into the crest until it stops moving’ work well enough.

“Alliance briefs aren’t always the best, Rook.” Vega sighed, shaking his head and chuckling. “Good guidelines, yeah, but not the best. Krogan crests are hard to punch through unless you concentrate fire on it, and they’ll notice.”

“Or just chamber armor-piercing, but yeah, Alliance ideas aren’t the best when it come to killin’ shit. ‘Specially when they make the damn briefings public, and even the dumbest Krogan merc can see ‘em and think ‘okay, how about helmets’. Or anything else that makes it hard to shoot ‘em in the crest.” Wrex added with a nod, huffing either in amusement or offense at the stupidity shown by the Alliance. “Stupid Humans don’t understand a damn thing about warfare, somehow, after everything.”

And the ODST couldn’t help but agree completely, there was no reason to make such military strategies publically accessible knowledge. The average citizen would either not need to know it, or enlist and learn it in training, so he couldn’t comprehend the decision to make something like that public access. The enemy was bound to find out your tactics and work around them if you broadcast them over loudspeaker to them, that should have been common sense and knowledge both. 

“Coming in on final approach, boys and Warlord. Landing site appears clear, expect light infil. Standby.” The woman’s voice called from the cockpit, crackling over the intercoms around them loudly. 

“We land, fan out, kill anyone we see that isn’t sporting Urdnot colors or surrenderin’.” Wrex summarized shortly, cocking the massive shotgun in his hands and smiling viciously. “Krogan hospitals are built like fortresses, so don’t worry ‘bout breakin’ shit. Rip ‘em apart like a Varren with a fresh Salarian in its jaws, heh heh.”

A moment later the bright white and blue lighting flicked off, replaced by red backlighting, and their conversation ended. Replacing their words was the sound of rapid clicking, whirring, fists smacking armor to check it, weapons collapsing and extending, and ammo being double checked. A familiar song to the misplaced Shock Trooper, who supposed that the sounds of war would be the same in any universe. 

That it comforted him so much was almost certainly telling, and just as certainly not something he would express anywhere near ear-shot of Chakwas.

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The shuttle shuddered under him, his legs bending slightly to compensate with the force of momentum pulling him down the way the shuttle had been moving. He took a breath as the shuttle door raised in front of him, bright and bare sunlight beating down as it did and blinding him for a split second before his visor polarized and compensated for it. 

Around them, massive walls of randomly piled and stacked rubble, sharp rock, and roughly hewn and bent metal towered around them forebodingly. A long path made of metal grids, rusted and partially covered in sand, cut through it like a road and about as wide as one. To either side of the stone slab of a landing spot, around its edge and dotting the ‘road’ intermittently as well, thick metal rods supported heavy burlap or lather canvas with stone slabs in front of them like tables. Or market stalls, given the number and regularity of them, even if they were empty he could imagine it as a busy market place full of customers looking for whatever a Krogan might need on a given day.

Gone now, though, leaving behind everything from weapons stacked on roughly made shelves or laid out in the sun, to meat hanging from hooks, and a few stalls selling scraps of armor. The rubble, according to Wrex, stretched for miles around them and was untraversable, even for Krogan or Varren for almost all of it. The clans had spent decades digging furrows through the stone, steel and other assorted detritus to form roads connecting to old highways and paths or linking to hubs of activity for each clan.

The Krogan warlord took the center and rushed ahead to draw any potential fire, and both Vega and the shock trooper stepped out to either side and sank to a knee, Avengers sweeping the surrounding mountains of rubble for anything that looked out of order. His VISR system pinged across the rubble on his side of the formation to look for heat signatures, nothing but small creatures scurrying away or hiding from them and hotspots shaped obviously like metal or stone left in the beating sun. 

Several seconds passed of silence, wind blowing around them and howling through stone and steel around them, before he broke the silence, “Clear right, no targets.”

“Clear left, no targets.” Vega echoed, rising in unison with the ODST and moving to the Krogan’s side as the alien warlord hummed in thought. “What’s wrong, Wrex? See something you don’t like out there?”

“This is a village, Vega, even if it’s the outskirts of one.” The Krogan informed him, waving a hand around him as he lumbered forward slowly and they followed. “The clans make thoroughfares and village spaces like these to stay. Unless someone forces’ em to pack up and run. And just look, there’s fresh meat and weapons out. Krogan would leave a lot of crap behind, but not weapons and certainly not food. I don’t like it...”

“You’re in command here, hombre.” Vega shrugged, voice only partially muffled by the heavy Alliance helmet he wore as he looked around. “Make a call, we got time to look around. No rush on this op, ‘least not as far as I know.”

“Something happened here, find out what if you can. I’m headed there, for now, see what I can find out on my own.” He ordered roughly as they moved, pointing ahead of them at a ruined building that looked to have once been a tower. Most of the top had collapsed and been pulled away, leaving iron spiking into the sky and rough stone piled atop it, but three floors of it were still standing well enough. As he went, he called over his shoulder, “Radio in if you find anything.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Got it, hombre lagarto.” Vega waved his off hand, turning to look at him and adding, “I’m gonna head back to the ‘pad, see if I find anything and work my way up the road. Or whatever this,” he nodded at the grating and sand beneath them, “is supposed to be. You look around here and work back to me, then we’ll work to Wrex’s position. Clear copy?”

“Clear.” He nodded, watching the blue-armored man turn and head back the way they came before turning to look around himself. 

He started at the weapon stall beside him, looking behind the stone slab laid in front of it for anything odd. A throw rug of thick hide with an overturned stool kicked away made of metal, a leg broken off and missing, but the space was otherwise bare entirely and bore no signs of anything untoward happening other than the kicked over and broken stool. The weapons were in disrepair, of various types, and laid somewhat randomly on the slab and around it, but that was all the stall had. 

A rug, a broken stool, and untouched weapons.

That the weapons were left behind, seemingly untouched, meant that there hadn’t been an attack. Or, at least, not the kind that he would normally imagine to such a wide reaching string of disappearances. So this was almost certainly not a Krogan clan raiding this clan. They’d have taken the weapons, there’d be bodies and signs of battle, and blood as well if another clan had attacked them outright. 

Next was the largest looking food stall, two stalls down from the weapon one and on the other side. It, like the last, had a thick looking throw rug made of hide laid on the bottom of it, but this one’s owner had to have been wealthier. A comfortable looking couch made out of some kind of bone and hides, large enough for a single Krogan to sit or lounge comfortably, sat in the back against almost neatly stacked stone. Meat hung at the front, and a small metal stool like the one from the weapon stall sat against the slab, turned to the side slightly.

Beside the couch a heavy red shotgun like Wrex’s with an added ‘bayonet’ the size of his forearm leaned against the arm of the couch. Untouched and, when he knelt and checked, fully loaded with ammunition. A small iron cube with an obvious lock on the front sat behind it as well, closed and untouched.

Hundreds of pounds of still fresh meat, what had to be a safe, a fine enough looking couch and a very well made and customized shotgun.

More things that would have been taken in any kind of military raid, in response to it or by the looters after. 

The next three stalls headed towards the landing pad yielded the same results, which was to say nothing at all. The fourth, though, did have something of note beyond basic comments on the life of the average Krogan and the fact it was more sheltered than most with three stone walls instead of the thick canvas tarps. Another sign of wealth or status, he figured, to have more solid stone and iron walls instead of canvas.

A splash of dim orange blood, dried completely by now, splashed across the rug on the floor behind a stone slab. Next to it, beside a smashed metal stool, a broken heavy pistol lay shattered, pointing at the wall in the back corner of the stall. 

Lifting the weapon off the floor he hummed in thought, and then laid his rifle beside him and knelt where the stool had been smashed. Behind the stone slab, facing towards the shuttle landing. Raising the hand cannon, he pointed towards it, centering his sights on James where he knelt by a stall down the way. Standing to account for the height difference he turned, but didn’t see anything on the wall that would demark bullet holes. And beyond, he knew he’d find the tarp of the other pinned against the wall, several metal rods poking through to anchor the stone doing enough to paint that picture.

Unless…

He laid his fist against it where he saw a slight divot and his eyes narrowed as the stone gave slightly. Pushing the head sized slab, it turned and he blinked in surprise at the large claw marks there, three rough edges hacked into the stone with orange blood inside and trailing down it and cut off at the bottom. Turning the next stone, the trails continued, and he nodded. 

Something clawed had attacked this Krogan, and he’d shot it or at least tried to, but it had seemingly smashed his weapon and cut the alien down. 

Activating his comm unit, he spoke to his two partners, “I found claw marks, blood, and a broken sidearm. I think I have a suspicion of what happened here, and would like to go through it together before we move on with the mission.”

“Rendezvous at the tower, Rook.” Wrex answered lowly, sounding tired and angry all at once, “I haven’t found a damn thing ‘sides the obvious. That being a surprising lack of Krogan or signs of Krogan leaving.”

“All I found were a couple ejected thermal clips, in different stall too.” Vega reported, the ODST stepping out of his and turning to see him heading his way. When he joined the shock trooper, he added, “This place creeps the hell out of me… Never thought I’d say it, but I think I kind of prefer when the Krogan are around, and loud, and proud, and shooting at me. Or trying to rip me in half, they’re a varied bunch of gilipollas.”

“Hm.” He nodded, and almost agreed. He didn’t have much experience fighting Krogan, but even he found the area… Eerie. Enough to dislike it, and almost itch for an actual fight to replace it.

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“It’s the same up here, there’s almost nothing to even hint at a fight.” Standing in a wide, circular room with a half-dozen smashed computer consoles surrounding a raised chair made of stone and positioned like a command chair set onto a raised platform authoritatively. “This is the Chieftain’s command room, it would have been defended by the warlord here and his personal bodyguards, not to mention his actual Krant if he felt there was any kind of threat coming.”

“It looks like the consoles were all smashed, but…” Vega shook his head, leaning against one with his Katana drawn now instead of the Avenger now they were inside. With that weapon, he gestured at the main entrance. “The barricades are set in place, yeah, but it looks like they just stay there. Guardin’ the stairs down to the bottom floor, looks like.”

“Normal Krogan defenses.” Wrex agreed, the ODST following him as he thumped to the low but thick concrete barricades, ammo boxes behind both along with a couple heavy looking rifles and a heavy shotgun. “More good loot… Krogans would have taken everything, brought it here to sort through, then loaded up the good shit and run off if they were gonna leave.”

“No signs of a fight, though. Not that I can see, at least.” Vega pointed out while the ODST wandered around the room, rifle held tight against his chest as he scanned the room. 

Old bullet holes and cracks riddles the stone walls, smooth and solid surfaces so that meant there wouldn’t be any hiding blood behind turned stones up here. Like Vega had said, every single console around the raised dais had its control segments crushed, smashed, or slashed into oblivion. On the raised platform, behind the chair and leaning its handle against it, a heavy looking hammer of some kind was left untouched. 

Just like every other weapon so far, aside from a single smashed hand cannon, and a couple scattered thermal clips.

“We should move on to the hospital, unless one of you have a way to bypass the control consoles and see if these consoles have anything good on ‘em?” Vega asked, tilting his head slightly to the side with the question to try and convey some kind of curiosity along with it.

“Already did, they’ve either been wiped or corrupted by somethin’, can’t tell which.” He held up a hand with a grimace, explaining, “My ‘Tool has a Salarian auto-hacking program installed on it. The doctor back on the Normandy made it for me, if I was gonna be deploying to the field. Somethin’ about ‘resource protection’, but I didn’t really pay much attention to his ramblin’ about it.”

“Reapers could be doin’ it.” James suggested with a shrug, “Indoctrination would explain a lot of this. Indoctrinated Krogan wouldn’t have fought when the Reapers came to collect ‘em.”

“Maybe…” He sighed, looking around and drumming his fingers on his rifle absently.

Indoctrinated Krogan explained a lot of this fairly simply, but not the broken weapon or the discharged thermal clips he and Vega had found. Those didn’t make any sense if all the Krogan were indoctrinated and went along willingly, and if they weren’t all indoctrinated then there should have been more fighting and signs of it than they had found.

“I sent a signal to some of my Krogan I had deployed nearby, told ‘em to come in case shit gets bad.” Wrex informed him as he rejoined them, gesturing at the door leading down with his heavy shotgun. “They’ll be here in an hour, so we’re gonna check the old hospital out, see what we find, and rendezvous back here later.”

“You sure?” Vega asked cautiously, shrugging when the Krogan gave him an almost shocked look. “You’re a VIP, Wrex, like it or not. Shit goes sideways down there, we have to worry ‘bout gettin’ you out of the fire. Too much at risk to not, but you’re in command. So I got your back either way, hombre.”

“Shouldn’t be nothin’ down there, we’d have run into it already. Reapers aren’t the brightest bunch, they tend to rush in and hope for the best like young Krogan.” He shrugged his great shoulders and barked a harsh laugh of bravado, jerking his head towards the wide door, “Come on, let’s get it over with. This is just what Shepard would call a milk run, whatever that means.”

“Means it’s as easy as runnin’ down to the store, which…” Vega trailed off and then shrugged, “Eh, that might not translate over quite right, actually. I feel like Krogans don’t go to the store like Humans do.”

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The hospital was ancient, made of thick stone and concrete and reinforced at every single doorway and throughout each hall. Massive iron or steel columns riveted along the stone ceiling to hold it up and fortify it, and each door even between normal rooms was constructed like a bulkhead or a bunker. At the bottom of the structure, Wrex had said, would be a long column like a basement where the clan would shelter its important people, children if they had any, and any women present as safely as they could be.

“They’d also mount defences inside the structure, like this.” He pounded a fist onto an old, inactive gun emplacement that looked like a shrunken down anti-aircraft gun of some kind. “Make ‘em work for it, but nothin’ that could destroy the place. Not enough of these, and most of the time, both sides know not to risk ‘em.”

“Not much point taking a fort if you destroy it in the process, yeah.” Vega nodded with a low and dry chuckle. 

And while the ODST wanted to argue based on experience, he let it pass. It wasn’t that important, and if he talked about the UNSC’s own protocols, then that would only bring more questions. Questions he simply didn’t care to deal with, and were better left completely ignored.

“Still no signs of any actual fighting, though. Kinda weird, that.” Vega added after a second of silence as they descended one of the staircases to the last floor before the massive column at the bottom to look through it. “Any ideas, Wrex?”

“Not really.” He shrugged, moving through the hallway while the Humans behind him glanced through each door into the moderately large rooms on the other side to check them for anything. “You two see anything?”

“Negative contact.”

“No, just a bunch of medical crap like the other rooms.” Vega sighed, moving to the next door and calling out, “Guns in this one, looks like a small armory or somethin’. None of ‘em are touched, though, and one’s on a bench like it was bein’ worked on until... Whatever happened.”

“Let's head down then, there’d not a damn thing up here.” Wrex sighed, either bored or angry he couldn’t tell. Probably a mix of both, knowing him as much as he did, at not being able to find a fight or whatever had happened to ‘his people’. “My warriors should be here in ten minutes, they’ll be waiting on us, so we shouldn’t waste time around here. Somethin’ about this is makin’ my skin itch.”

Descending the last staircase, they came out in the long column at the center of the massive structure, and froze at what they found. The room itself was a hundred feet long long and fifty feet tall, at least according to his VISR range-finding pings, with massive support columns placed regularly with large and bright lights all along it. Massive metal cylinders surrounded them, wired to the roof of the place and from there along it to somewhere he couldn’t see without tagging it in his VISR system. 

But instead, the massive purple spikes spiring to the ceiling stole his attention, hundreds of them linked to what looked like massive bowled four or five to a piece filled the room. Machinery had been randomly tossed against the wall with scattered scraps of armor and weapons, along with small bundles of-

“Raaagh!” The warlord roared, charging forward past them and smashing through a machine in his rage filled haste. He holstered his shotgun as he went, sliding to his knees and almost seeming to tremble as he reached for a bundle and they followed, hearing him murmuring, “No, not this… No, no, no!”

When they joined him, he choked and rocked back and forth, almost sobbing and cradling the small bundle like it was a precious jewel. The ODST turned and knelt, rifle raised warily while Vega kneeled beside him and spoke as gently as he could, both surprised to see the Krogan in such a state.

“Wrex, what is… Querido dios el cielo, is that a… A baby?” Shocked, the ODST turned, and caught sight of a small leg hanging out of the bundle. Wrex choked again and nodded jerkily, fussing with the cloth vainly, and Vega shook his head, “Oh god, Wrex, are all those bundles… Fucking Reapers!”

The Genophage, the shock trooper knew, meant that almost all births were still born for the Krogan. So children were precious to them, more so than almost anything else from weapons to land and food. Even the most hardened and cruel Wwarlord would hold off an attack if he knew there were Krogan children in an enemy camp. A Krogan child’s crying at its birth, from what he’d read on the net, could cause days of celebration that even mortal enemies would partake in or at least recognize and leave the clan be in.

And a hundred bundled Krogan young were cast aside like so much garbage, broken and dead on the ground.

Across the room, something heavy fell and something else hissed loudly, and he rose at the sound, “Wrex, something is here. You need to get out of here, the Reaper presence is-”

“Brute!” Vega’s shout was unneeded, everyone in the room heard and felt the creature smash through one of the large, purple machines and barrel towards them. It was covered in a slimy substance, but Vega yanked him to the side before he could look any harder, “Circle right, Rook, I’ll go left. Pepper it until it dies, aim for its legs to slow it down and cover Wrex before it-”

“Reaper bastards!” Wrex bellowed, the two soldiers freezing beside him as he audibly crackled in biotic energy and gingerly laid the bundle aside. When he rose, his eyes sparked with energy that arced across his great head, and even the Brute seemed to almost hesitated at the sight. Cackling almost madly, the Krogan Warlord lumbered forward a few steps and cracked his knuckles, flaring blue energy around him as he spoke, “You think you can take Krogan children from us? Think that’ll break us, I bet. But it won’t, not even close, you vermin!”

“You’ll just piss us off!” He roared, shooting off faster than the drop trooper was sure was even possible towards the massive thing and slamming into it headlong. 

The creature shuddered and roared, sweeping its great claw into the warlord’s side, but Wrex just laughed and pummeled his fists into its head. Blow after blow, augmented with biotic power and Krogan rage, rained down onto the machine-monster’s head and shoulders and it staggered under the weight before sweeping its massive claw out from its chest and pushing him back.

In response, the Krogan wrapped its arms around the Reaper and yanked to the side, hurling it through the air and into one of the purple machines. The machine sparked as it exploded, spitting electricity that caught fire along the Reaper and on the consoles around it, and the Krogan leapt as high as he could. The Warlord came down like a cannonball, artillery power in his raised fists as it slammed into the Reaper and crushed it under him. 

Weakly, either from injury or simply because Wrex didn’t care the ODST wasn’t sure, its claw smacked into the Krogan’s side and Wrex responded by grabbing it and planting a foot on its chest. With a loud, wet and somehow mechanical still popping and tearing sound, he wrenched the arm free and hurled it to the side with a joyous and victorious roar of challenge. Still the Reaper tried to rise, and he drew his Claymore, sneering imperiously.

“Don’t fuck with our kids, Reaper.” He said, emptying three rounds into it, reloading patiently between each one as he did. Finally satisfied it was dead, the Krogan stepped off the corpse and moved towards them, sparing a glance to the little bundles as he went before sighing. “My scouts are here, let’s go report this to ‘em. I want out of this piss hole.”

Wordlessly, the two soldiers followed him.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

So, it would seem I am at the popularity level of ‘high enough up to be starting to get trolls and flamers’. This will be posted on every story I have for this week, and then removed, as per usual announcement style for me.

I use Jaune, he’s easy to mold and make fit, fun to write, and a slew of other various reasons that make him damn useful to an author. If you dislike that, then that is fine. I do have non-Jaune stories. This will be posted on two of them. Yet flamers and trolls seem to think that isn’t the case and like to post… I think nine reviews now on just two of the stories?

It’s my style, I write what I like, and unless you wanna be a Supporter and request otherwise, then trolls and flamer reviewers don’t get input I will register or integrate. You get a singular announcement, your reviews deleted if you do it again, and then wholly ignored. 

Critique is one thing, saying ‘ugh Jaune’ in various ways with nothing to offer is another thing. And for any who may be joking or sarcastic, it’s hard to read either of these in text form, and harder still to discern them from the actual trolls and flames, and even further FF has a problem with precisely that right now. So I apologize if you posted one of these in jest.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Da Orkiest :

This chapter, I fear, my little green friend, lacks much dakka. My sincere apologies, I wanted to take a different bend on the chapter than normal.

Monsieur Mole :

Well, glad you’re enjoying it. I aim to please, as ever and always, even if sometimes I could stand to do so better.

Scrub Lord 97 :

XD

Predator 1701 :

Glad you enjoy it, and I do intend to continue.


	8. Chapter 8

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Official Supporters: 

Grand Priestess, Luna Haile - “That’s meeeeee~!” ~ Mika

High Priest, Alvelvnor

Priest, The Impossible Muffin

Priest, Xager the Chaos King 

Acolyte, DigiDemonLord

Acolyte, Maxentirunos

Initiate, Greg Gibson

Initiate, Gentleman Mad

Escapee, Voltegeist

If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM one of us for details or join our discord. Server for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, and remember to post a Review/Comment to let me know what you liked and didn’t. 

So, Fanfiction will not let me link to discord. So, I apologize to every single FF reader for this, but please PM me for a join link. And please consider doing so, I enjoy chatting with you lot. On AO3, the link is viable : https://discord.gg/2UZncAm

If I could trick FF into thinking this is not a link here it is (delete the spaces and turn):  
D iscord . gg (slash) kfhkfUb

Betas for this story so far : 

Darkvampirekisses, Vucsiros

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“I’m getting reports of the same kinds of things happening on Palaven, and a couple of other Turian colonies the Reapers have apparently decided worth the effort.” Primarch Victus offered quietly, standing opposite the long table with Shepard leaning against the wall across from the door with her arms crossed under her bust and Wrex across from the Primarch, fuming still and leaning heavily on the table. “Turian flags flying over Reaper locations, Turian civilians being used as meat shields to dampen our own attacks, even using historic sites as prison camps and fortified defensive points to lower morale.”

“Not that that worked on Tuchanka.” The Krogan Warlord slammed his fists together, chuckling dangerously in the way he did so often. “Word is already gettin’ around, and recruitin’ is up. Not to mention clan obedience and cooperation.”

“I’ll repeat my offer of Turian special forces and off world locations, Wrex.” The Primarch said quietly, giving the Krogan a respectful nod. “I would gladly see to it that your civilians were safe-guarded. We’re allies, and I do not mind.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The Krogan waved a meaty hand dismissively, though he saw the grave and thinking look in his eye. “I’ll think on it, Turian, but my people won’t like handin’ our fertile females and little ones off to the same aliens that hit us in the first place. Kind of a sour note, that, askin’ our kid’s killers to watch our kids for us.”

“Wrex, I-”

“Anderson had the same to say when I managed to catch a word with him and ask.” Shepard added before a fight could starting, giving the ODST leaning against the door a look, raising a thin eyebrow in question and asking, “You guys had the Nazis back when, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Great, don’t gotta do shit for context then, since it’s public knowledge. Not, uh, not that it’s good that you guys had Nazis too, I mean, but hey at least they’re dead and gone now, yeah?” He shrugged unsurely and she rolled her eyes, looking first to the Primarch and then to the Warlord, “They’re using old sites on Earth, too. Anderson doesn’t know all of ‘em, but we know they’ve demolished some of old Auschwitz and fortified it to use as a prison camp, same with the Eiffel Tower and a few locations like those.”

“A psychological war, then. I suppose that only makes sense, though, considering.” The Primarch sighed, scratching at his mandibles idly with his talons and shaking his head. “We need a win, Commander, and a damn good one. My Turians are disciplined, but we have non-Turians across our colonies trying to assist, and we need them to. But morale is plummeting after the loss of two homeworlds from major species.”

“The Batarians too, even if they were slaving, racist jackasses.” Shepard pointed out with a small, sour grimace. History there, of some kind he wasn’t sure about, John guessed. “They were a bit behind on tech, and morality, but they had a sizable enough fleet. And not many knew it was falling apart, so losing all of Batarian space is a massive morale shock. That has a cascade effect.”

“This is a different kind of war than anything any of us have seen, not in this universe or-or galaxy, or whatever the proper term is for this.” The Turian nodded, giving the ODST a meaningful look and an apologetic smile that did nothing to fill him with confidence. “You are, though, from what I understand. And we need to know how you managed to survive this kind of war, as much as a soldier can know.”

So that was why he was here, then, among the leaders of two entire species and with one of the most important women to the Human one. Grimacing behind his visor, and now he knew why he’d been allowed to keep his armor on when Shepard always complained against it, because they knew how uncomfortable he would be disclosing potentially classified items of his world’s military and talking about his own people’s fighting against a genocidal crusade of alien machinations and beliefs. 

“I…” Still his hands trembled for the briefest of moments, and his eyes squeezed shut along with his fists before they could see or the trembling could worsen at the memories, “I do not want to talk about that, Commander. I-It’s classified.”

“I know, John, I...” Her voice was soft now, surprisingly so, and she glanced between each of her companions in turn before asking in a firmer voice. “Please, gentleman, give me five minutes alone with him? I’ll bring him around, if he can be.”

“Commander, I don’t-”

“Come on, Turian.” Wrex snorted, growling irritably at the demand but shoving off the table and stomping towards the door. He stopped in front of the ODST and gave him a simple nod of understanding. “The kids have shit to sort out, and I need to talk to you about this entire Turian regiment you sent to Tuchanka again. I understand an assault is being planned, after all, and on my planet. And speakin’ of kids, I wanna chat about that too, while we got the time for it.”

“I…” The Turian eyed the Commander and the Warlord in turn, and then sighed in that warbling, not quite synthetic way his species did. And then he nodded, “The Turian in me lauds your decision, young man. The Turian in me asks you to reconsider, though.”

The two aliens left without another word to him, and he sighed as Shepard moved to his side of the table and leaned against it, almost sitting on it with her hands gripping the edge under her. Reaching up, he tapped his helmet twice and his visor depolarized, but she didn’t meet his eyes through the armored glass. Instead she stared down at the floor, eyes hard and shoulders tense as forged steel or a Pelican full of green Marines headed down to a planet on fire and a city of Brutes. 

“Commander…?” She glanced to him at the soft and anxious words. 

What was wrong with her, she looked terrified. Neither the bouncing ball of energy, flitting around her ship to annoy as many people as efficiently as possible, or the hard as titanium plated armor commander that she was in the field. No, instead she looked terrified, suddenly and without any reason he could think of for it. 

“I… Died, but-but you know that, of course you know that. Of-Of course you do, you do your research.” She gave him a glance, normally bright and vibrant green jewels glassy and fragile looking. Taking a breath, she sighed and nodded, “But I just wanted you to know that… That I get it. I saw your hands, too. I know why you talk the way you do, walk the way you do, fight the way you do. I do it too, put up the front.”

“I bounce around, I crack jokes, and in a fight I make myself just… Just shut off.” She snapped her fingers, smiling bitterly and letting out another long breath that seemed to shake her very being. “I died, alone and cold, in the void of space. And everything I fought for was almost destroyed, because of idiot, lying politicians. And every time I… Every time I put on that damn helmet, I want to vomit, you know?”

She wanted him to speak, now, he could tell by the way she went quiet and watched him. But then she smiled, and nodded, “And you look like you’ll do the same at simply having to talk, John. I have seen you throw yourself, unshielded, into a firefight with some of the most horrifying things this galaxy has ever known without fear. Seen you shot and been assured you could keep fighting. No fear.”

“Shepard, I…” He shook his head, but even with her so upset, she still managed to smirk knowingly at him and quirk an eyebrow.

“But speaking to me, being open with me about your problems or-or Chakwas, either one of us…” She shook her head, leaning towards him and tilting her head to see his face better. “That scares you, more than- More than the Reapers, or Krogan, or a fireright, or even dying if I had to place bets as bad at that as I apparently am. Doesn’t it, John Doe?”

“...Yes.” He finally admitted, through a tight throat and dry lips. He reached halfway up to polarize his visor but stopped himself, hand above the button that would do it. But, anxious and unsure, he glanced to Shepard, who simply smiled knowingly and understandingly in a way he couldn’t have expected.

Feet first into hell indeed, with devils like her around. 

“Have I ever told you what happened to my home planet?” He asked suddenly, letting his hand drop to hang at his side like the other one. Limp, weak, unsure of where to go, just like he felt at this moment. “I fought on it, in the last city, in the last part of the evacuation. Just before I joined the ODSTs. It burned under plasma bombardment, and from what I read a month later, it’s just a ball of floating glass and storms now.”

“I’m sorry for your losses, John, all of them. And I understand your pain in a way, just a little. Earth is my home, and it is burning right now.” She gave him a look, smiling comfortingly like a woman speaking to a sibling. “I also understand what you go through, every day, and that you must be the best of men to fight even with all your faults and cracks in your armor. In your being.”

“Thank you.” He nodded, and he meant it too, thought that didn’t surprise him. Shepard seemed able to inspire and touch people, from what he’d read, and he supposed he was on that list now. “How do you… Handle it, dealing with people? Even just this is… Grating.”

“I lean on them, use them for support, and they know I do it.” She smiled, jerking her head down and to the side. Towards the front of the ship. “Garrus and Mordin have heard me talk about this before, you know. I’m good with them because I love them, like family. Weird, scaly sometimes, really angry in Wrex’s case… But family. I tried… Support groups, once, online and-and a half-dozen religions, but none of it worked for me. And I mean, I don’t know about you-”

“I’ve seen a dozen worlds burn, and Marines eaten alive by Brutes.” Among worse things, things he didn’t mention but that made him shudder to allude to. “You don’t experience that and believe in deities that care.”

“Some do.” She countered gently, raising a hand before he could respond. Not that he was going to, but it was more likely she was defusing an assumed defence. “But, uh, I don’t want an argument, John. I’m just sharing my own experiences…”

“Because you want me to share mine.” He guessed, the woman nodding gently. He grimaced behind his visor, but after a long second, he sighed and nodded. “I will answer whatever questions they have, Shepard.”

“Thank you, John.” She pushed off the table, using the momentum to feed her steps through the door. He made way for her as he had done Wrex, stepping back into the hallway, but she stopped next to him and smiled, “Do ya want a hug, John? I bet it would make you feel better. It always makes me feel better.”

“...No.” He tried hopefully, knowing before he did it that it was a vain request. She wrapped an arm around him regardless, and he let her with a stiff face. When she pulled back, beaming a grin at him, he sighed and said a simple, “Thank you.”

“Now, you get cleaned up, you look like you’re about to cry with those red eyes. I’ll go and get your big brother and his friend.” She winked at him as the implication hit, and then was bouncing away on her heels energetically. 

“Family… Family, family.” He tasted the word, rolled it around in his mouth curiously as he stepped into the room and moved to the corner behind where Wrex stood. Leaning there, he hummed and then sighed. 

Thoughts for later, he supposed, and he had a couple minutes before she could meander her way to collecting the two aliens to rest.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“The UNSC was quick to learn that, in this kind of war, everything has a number.” He started, leaning on the table with Shepard standing behind him and smiling proudly and his helmet between his hands. “Every ship has a number. Every planet has a number. Every law, policy, military unit, has a number. A value that is simple and irrefutable, and understood by everyone including those being valued.”

“Priced, more accurately, from how you’re talking.” The Primarch nodded in understanding, looking first to the Krogan and then back to the ODST. “We Turians already exercise such principles. Every man and woman fighting knows that they have a duty beyond them, and that if the moment calls for it… They will all pay the ultimate price.”

“The Krogan do it too, kinda.” Wrex added, clearly still in a foul mood. The Turian looked at him curiously, a mandible twitching and spiked brows rising gently to show it. “Krogan won’t toss their lives away, but… They’ll die well, for a good cause, and do so with a big old grin.”

“How heavy is the fighting on Palaven?” The ODST asked suddenly, looking to the Turian with hard edged eyes. “Are you still deploying forces for civilian rescue?”

“Yes, of course, I…” The Turian's small eyes widened as he realized the soldier’s implication. “You’re implying that you think I shouldn’t be doing that. Is that how your ‘United Nations Space Command’ fought their war?”

“Everything has a value in a war like this. A thousand civilians with nothing to offer the war effort are not worth losing ships, soldiers and ammunition for.” He said simply and grimly in equal measure, shrugging his armored shoulders when he finished. “You asked what the UNSC would do. That is all I am answering, Primarch.”

“I see…” The Turian swallowed dryly, taking a breath and looking at him. “The Turian people will… Take that under advisement, but we won’t abandon our people to be slaughtered and turned into weapons to use against us.”

“Hm.” His eyes narrowed, and he wondered why they’d asked if they weren’t going to use his information. His armor needed maintenance, and his rifle too, and a nice nap wouldn’t go amiss instead of wasting his time.

“Hey, relax, I see those shoulders tensin’.” Shepard’s foot touched the back of his leg and he looked over his shoulder at her, smiling almost dopily at him. “You’re doin’ fine, John, we’re just working through the ideas your bringin’. Can’t expect every single one of ‘em to gel here too. So just take a breath and go to the next thing, ‘kay?”

“Fine.” He huffed, not in any ill tone but instead wishing to get it done and over with so he could leave, and leave the big decisions with the big people. “Next was Cole Protocol, which was introduced later in the war by a very successful admiral.”

“I thought you lot were losin’ that war somethin’ fierce.” Wrex interjected curiously, waving a hand when Shepard shot him a look. “Just curious, reign in the damn glares. He doesn’t have to answer me.”

“He was successful because his fleets came back at all, and sometimes even with victories.” The soldier answered simply, shrugging yet again. “The Covenant’s shields and energy weapons made it so that a single Covenant corvette could take on ten of ours before dying, and that only gets worse as the ships get bigger. He gave us tactics to fight them.”

“Like?” Wrex asked, waving his hands when Shepard threatened to throw something at him. “Okay, Shepard, but this is actually important. They fought a bigger, badder navy and we have to too. Fishin’ for ideas here is the meanin’ of the meetin’, ain’t it?”

“I’m an infantryman, I don’t know much of it.” He said simply, making a half-smile and adding, “He did attack a fleet twice his own in size near a gas giant, then insult their religion and nuke it to send it up like a small star, though. I don’t know how, though, not specifically.”

“And nuking our gas giants might not be a very viable strategy, I’m afraid to say.” The Turian added, smiling in a sort of grim amusement mixed with respect. “Audacious and impressive as it may have been. Now, this ‘Cole Protocol’?”

“If a station, planet or ship were being boarded or likely to be crippled and not destroyed, or destroyed in a manner which did not guaranteed all data was scrubbed, then…” He gave the two aliens a look and sighed, “Then the ship’s issued artificial intelligence would initiate a data wipe of all codes, protocols, names, and navigational data. Acting officers would then delete the artificial intelligence, and if possible, destroy the ship. This way, the Covenant could not find out the locations of assets.”

“Artificial intelligences…” The Turian stiffened, and then shook its head, “No matter, that was your universe, and I won’t hold yours to our morality or laws here.”

“Deleting information won’t help much, since our planets are public access knowledge.” Wrex pointed out, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall behind him. “So kind of moot too, there.”

“Not quite.” Shepard cut int, leaning against the table beside the ODST close enough their shoulders touched. And that he flinched, in reaction to the contact and the suddenness of it both, though he hid it as soon as he realized he’d done it. “We could implement the same thing with space-based installations. Refuelling docks, rearming docks, ship-building infrastructure, that sort of stuff.”

“I agree, I’ll send orders to the fleet to-”

Suddenly and violently, the ship rocked and the lights flickered, and between the time the lights died and the emergency reds flicked on, the shock trooper had his helmet on and himself between the Turian and the door as a shield. After several seconds, the ship once again shook violently and Shepard grabbed him, yanking him towards the door and pointing at Wrex. 

“You stay here, protect the Primarch, Wrex. He’s unarmed, but you’re a biotic.” She didn’t wait for his response, but he knew Wrex would obey the orders. He respected the Commander too much not to, after all. Shepard’s palm slammed against the door release and she snapped at the guards in the fortified point between the command deck and the CIC section, “Report, and give me two Predators.”

“Ma’am, Joker says it’s coming from Engineering.” One of the responded crisply, handing them each one of the sidearms and then retrieving another for herself. “Controls are going haywire, along with all our systems. That’s the point of origin.”

“Understood, you two hold the checkpoint and bar access unless there’s an emergency until this passes. Rookie,” she gave him a look, the hard edged Commander back in place, “you’re with me, we’re headed down to Engineering.”

“Understood.” He flicked his safety off and nodded, letting her lead the way around to the elevator. 

They got down quick enough, and after the engineering crew confirmed no actual fires to be concerned about, they met the apparent cause of the problems.

“So.” Shepard started awkwardly, giving the ODST a sidelong glance and a smirk. “Did you AIs have bods like this, too?”

“Negative.” He answered, exhausted now of the insanity of the day. Shepard bumped his arm and raised her brow at him and he sighed, “No, Shepard, the AI in my universe or galaxy did not have bodies. They were kept on hardware and interfaced via software exclusively, to my knowledge. Better?”

“That was more than one word, so yes.” Shepard quipped, looking back to the metallic woman in front of them. “So, EDI, care to explain… Basically everything about this to me? Beyond the technicals, I mean, just the basics will do.”

“I wished to access this unit’s body to see if I could recover any lost or stored data on its hard drives, or perhaps Cerberus information stored therein. Upon attempting to access the body, her subroutines activated a reboot sequence, which I was forced to act against. The easiest way to do so was to assume control myself.” EDI glanced at the smoke and electrical burns around her and frowned, “She resisted and struggled. Thus the electrical discharges and system spikes.” 

“And you are in control now?” She asked, just to clarify. “No… Mysterious Cerberus subroutines left? And you are EDI?”

“No subroutines exist outside my control, and were I the Cerberus agent then I would have already vented this entire ship, Commander.” She pointed out simply, shrugging as though it were obvious. “Cerberus would gain nothing from a spy that would not be equally served by eliminating the crew of this vessel. As I have not done that, I hope you believe that I am still me. I do understand your caution, however. It is warranted.”

“Fine, I guess… Next time, tell someone first, understood?” Shepard asked, sounding more amused than angry. 

“The conflict lasted less than thirty seconds, and sparing processing to speak to anyone would have borne not fruits and taken away the likelihood of my success against the Cerberus AI.” She smiled apologetically, though, and added, “I am sorry for frightening you and causing the trouble, however.”

“Fine, fine, I want a full briefing packet distributed to the officers aboard with a classification that… Fits, I guess. It doesn’t leave this ship.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and added, waving her hand at the door, “Report to Joker for assignment, I guess, and… Don’t let him break his hand in when he sees you.”

“I will refrain from allowing Joker to harm himself in his excitement, Commander.” She smirked, and the ODST sensed there was a hidden joke of some kind there as her synthetic eyes met his. “We have not met yet, Lance Corporal John Doe. I am sorry our first meeting was so… Uncomfortable.”

He shrugged and, without another word, she slipped past them and through the door, and Shepard groaned. “What next, Protheans coming back from the-” Her Omni-Tool beeped gently once, and she raised her arm, looking over a small file sent to her and blinking, “Motherfucker, speaking of Protheans and their shit…”

“Ma’am?”

“New marching orders for a quick assignment to Eden Prime.” She sighed, shaking her head and moving towards the door, “I’ll message you with your own deployment, but apparently Cerberus is up to no good there and there’s Prothean ruins involved. A special kind, apparently, but Hackett didn’t say what exactly. I’ll see what i can find out, and let you know if you’re on the op.”

“Understood, Shepard.” He nodded curtly, and she hummed in thought before smirking in that way he knew meant trouble.

“Also, John, don’t forget your appointment with Chakwas is in a few hours.” She winked, bouncing away yet again before he could respond to what she’d said. 

“Mother fucker…”

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Okay, short but inteeeeense chapter. Very short note, ROOKIE’S understanding on protocol, history and the like is his own. Not what I think canon is. He misremembers and does not have access to certain things, as he is a person and a soldier with rules to operate under and be written under. Just to clarify, friend-os.

Hope you all enjoyed, have a good one, y’all.

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D72 :

Okay, you have a lot for me to answer~

As to Voi, I would say answering would be spoilers, but… I mean, would it matter? Getting to Voi at this point is likely to be an impossibility, even if the Forerunners existed in this galaxy, universe, dimension or however you interpret it. Kind of a huge Reaper presence there, and beating it would essentially end the war anyway so… Don’t expect Forerunner ships en masse, eh?

Why would EDI get him pissed at Dare…?

Gonna be real, I actually wrote a short scene where the babies reanimated with reaper tech, but… Scrapped it, since it would be too Dead Spacey for me and break the tone of the scene.

Yeah, I… Confidence is an issue with me. Nature of the beast, self doubt and the like, when it comes to art of any kind. If it helps, I realized that and didn’t post that thing you’re responding to on other chapters.

Thanks for reading.

SD Phantom 10 :

Yeah, not gonna lie, I felt good writin’ that after what I put him through there. I could feel Wrex smirkin’ at me from Krogan heaven.

Patiflops :

In the beginning, he couldn’t understand them. Only Vega and Shepard due to lacking an Omni-Tool. However, between scenes mainly though I gave it a small reference, he was given an Omni-Tool to use.


	9. Chapter 9

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Official Supporters: 

Grand Priestess, Luna Haile - “That’s meeeeee~!” ~ Mika

High Priest, Alvelvnor

Priest, The Impossible Muffin

Priest, Xager the Chaos King 

Acolyte, DigiDemonLord

Acolyte, Maxentirunos

Initiate, Greg Gibson

Initiate, Gentleman Mad

Escapee, Voltegeist

If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM one of us for details or join our discord. Server for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, and remember to post a Review/Comment to let me know what you liked and didn’t. 

So, Fanfiction will not let me link to discord. So, I apologize to every single FF reader for this, but please PM me for a join link. And please consider doing so, I enjoy chatting with you lot. On AO3, the link is viable : https://discord.gg/2UZncAm

If I could trick FF into thinking this is not a link here it is (delete the spaces and turn):  
D iscord . gg (slash) kfhkfUb

Betas for this story so far : 

Vucsiros

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“Our Alliance meant the Normandy would be here, Commander. On Tuchanka, until the Genophage is cured and Tuchanka is secure as it can be with giant metal death squids flying around my space.” The Krogan sighed, trying to ease the tensions in the diplomatic room with the weak humor and gave the Turian beside him a look. “Can you spare anything that I could use to smooth this over with my people?”

“Unfortunately no, not yet at least.” The Turian grimaced, voice coloring with his disquiet as he explained. “We just lost one of our dreadnoughts in the home system, only damaged thankfully even if extensively so, but… It’s weakened our hold even more than it already was across the system. The Reapers seemed to realize the extent when it limped away and are pushing in response.”

“Hackett has a few frigates he could loan for support purposes, but they’re undermanned as it is.” Shepard shrugged, frowning herself and shaking her head tiredly. “A couple platoons of Marines, lot of ‘em green on top of that, and with half the crew compliment they need for them. So some of the Marine Engineers won’t even be deployable, filling those holes in.”

“So probably just one platoon of actual help, and some damn support frigates?” The Warlord growled, angry but not at her. She knew better than that, trusted Wrex not to let his emotions get ahead of him, and even if Victus stiffened at the sound, she didn’t. “That’s not a trade, Shepard, that’s barely even useful. One Reaper-Destroyer would be able to cut them all apart, ‘specially undermanned and with pups fighting for ‘em on the ground.”

“Your people will be up in arms.” Literally, if she had to guess. And she couldn’t even blame them all that much, really. “The Alliance knows that this agreement is at risk for this, but the last Prothean site we hit up had plans on you-know-what. If this one has anything like that, or related to it then we-”

“Then you have to go and get it, I know, Shepard. I get it, Commander, but they,” he waved an armored and meaty hand at nothing, presumably referring to the Krogan as a whole on Tuchanka and above it in their ramshackle and loaned ships, “don’t and won’t. All they will know is that their shiny new ‘High Warlord’ is letting what was agreed to us just leave. Half the clans will start trying to replace me, and the other half will start trying to kill me.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” Victus, actually curious now judging from his tone and the very Turian way he tilted his head at the Krogan to convey that. 

“Not really, no, the ones wantin’ me replaced would want me around to smash heads and the usual for ‘em.” Wrex shrugged, waving a hand again the same way as he had before and grunting dismissively. “The others would actually want me dead, probably say I was workin’ for you or the frogs or something to justify it after the fact. If they bother, but hey, might make replacing me easier on whoever manages to get me.”

“And that would mean a Krogan civil war, and probably after that they’d go after the Hierarchy and the Alliance both.” Shepard growled, irritated herself now and pinching the bridge of her nose. “But I have to go, we can’t let Cerberus get whatever is there and they basically have the entire planet under their control.”

“Can you stall the mission a week and a half?” The Primarch asked, leaning on the table tiredly, shoulders sagging uncharacteristically in fatigue. “I can try and get one of our scouting flotillas out here, along with the Alliance support frigates, and some… Marines and Navy from destroyed ships and units to fill out the Alliance’s numbers a bit.”

“I need numbers, Victus, not vague bullshit that’ll just get thrown back at me.” Wrex grunted, shaking his great head when the Turian didn’t offer anything more concrete. “Last time my people got asked to trust aliens, we got neutered and demilitarized. Trillions of dead babies and two thousand years later, I am not asking my people to just trust aliens again. Even if I do trust ‘em.”

“Your faith in me is appreciated.”

“Eh, I was more talkin’ about Shepard and the Alliance.” The Krogan let out a low, harsh laugh at the barb, smiling to let him know it was mostly a joke and then sighing. “I think you’re one of the good ones, Victus. You lead from the front, and didn’t run off when a fight came knockin’. I respect that, and you, but…”

“Your people don’t know me, and some wouldn’t care. I’m a Turian and that’s enough reason to hate me. Kill me even, if they could pull it off.” The Turian’s voice flanged and warped at his displeasure, but the Turian forced it aside. “Not like we can do anything about it here, though. What’s important is getting that Prothean ruin secured, and seeing if there’s anything there we can use.”

“Hackett doesn’t have anyone else he can contact. Every N-Seven is deployed, missing-in-action, or stuck on planets under siege.” Shepard added, drumming fingers on the metal table between them as she spoke. “Cerberus has Eden Prime locked down too much for anything except a stealth operation, or a fleet action, to get in. And the second option would get the Prothean site bombed to hell and back.”

“Not that we have the fleet part of a ‘fleet action’ to spare either.” The Turian added with a disgruntled clicking of his flanges. “And my special forces are in the same boat. Hell, Blackwatch itself is mostly already here. On Tuchanka.”

“Then I have an idea.” Wrex offered quietly, leaning in conspiratorily and smiling like a child with a particularly juicy secret to share. “We rig up one of those Kodiaks with stealth capabilities, and send a strike team on it. While we say you,” he pointed at Shepard, “got hurt in a fight and are on bed rest in the officer quarters for a couple weeks. Should be enough time, right?”

“It should, assuming the Kodiak can be properly stealthed at all and in a reasonable time for this plan.” Shepard added, nodding slightly and running her tongue along her lip as she absorbed the plan. “I won’t be able to take a strike team on the op, though. Taking three or four members would get noticed too easily, especially in regards to Liara and Vega. They’re too social, people would notice.”

“And I can use them, Commander.” Wrex added, thumping a fist against the table excitedly and turning to the Turian. “Your boy still needs men and manpower for that assault against Cerberus, right? Before that nuke gets set off in the Kelphic Valley, if I remember right.”

“Right, and I am not going to ask how you found out about that, but… Ah, I see where you’re going with this.” The Turian sighed, sounding amused and annoyed at the same time. “You’re a shrewd leader, Wrex, I will give you that. Shrewd, demanding, and far more intelligent than any of my advisors briefed me on.”

“Fire ‘em.”

“Most of them are already dead, so… I don’t think that is needed.” The Turian chuckled weakly, straightening at the dark humor of the joke and sighing with his spined arms crossed over his chest. “Lay your plan out then, High Warlord Urdnot Wrex.”

“Split up what you have left of your Blackwatch unit between the two landing points you had mapped out, half and half.” Wrex started simply, talking as much with his hands as his mouth now that he was planning out a fight. You could take the Krogan out of Tuchanka… “I’ll lead one myself, your boy leads the other, and we supplement with some of my most loyal Krogan and Shepard’s squadmates.”

“Makes a show of involving the Normandy, and it being here, with an excuse for me bowing out of the fight, and lets the Krogan and Turians fight together against a distinctly Krogan catastrophe.” Shepard listed out, the Krogan Warlord nodding along with each perk of the plan as she said it. “And while telling them about Turians dying for a Krogan cause won’t do much, if they fight and die together…”

“Then they’ll believe it, and honor it in a very Krogan way, as unfortunate as it is to be using the deaths of my men and women like that.” Both of them knew that it was reality in a war like this, though. 

Cerberus would shower them with everything they had on-planet that they couldn’t get away with, that was simply how they fought now. Disposable pawns just buying time and doing as much damage as they could while the more valuable soldiers withdrew and engineers destroyed whatever they found that was valuable. Scorched earth, ironically by the same people that practically worshipped Earth. 

Zealots all the same, and the unfortunates that they turned into puppets for their own ends.

“I can get Cortzen and Vega both working on the Kodiak right away, clear both of them of other duties for the duration.” Shepard started, smiling almost maniacally now as the finer points of a good plan presented themselves. “Primarch, does the Blackwatch detachment or anything you have in-system that you can trust have any good engineers?”

“None close enough to matter, or that can be spared.” He shook his head, and she almost swore at the news before he smirked and smiled. “I was in an armored division when I was younger, though, and then moved through to ship-board and aerial engineering later on. It’ll put pressure of my command staff, and require you to ‘leak’ Alliance military secrets to me that I won’t even try to promise I won’t use on my own fleet, but… I can help.”

“I’ll clear it with Hackett for technicality, but…” She sighed, shaking her head for a brief moment as she considered what she was about to do and then nodding in resignation when she did. “Head down to engineering, grab Kenneth and Gabby and then head to the cargo hold and get them with Vega and Cortez. Hackett doesn’t have an option, and I don’t have time for the proper channels.”

“You sure about that?” Wrex asked warily, giving her a worried look and grimacing. “You could get in a hell of a lot of trouble over that, you know, Shepard. The kind with prison sentences and firing squads.”

“Comes after the war, even if he tries something like that.” She waved it off, uncaring beyond what was needed to get this war over with in a way that had as few extinctions as possible. “I’ll be taking Rookie with me, Wrex, if you don’t mind.”

“He’s your man, why are you asking me?”

“Because he’s assigned to a command under you.” She rolled her bright eyes, smiling at the Krogan’s forgetfulness. If it wasn’t a fight, sometimes he could forget just about anything without any real warning or reason for it. “I need to know if you need him, because I’d enjoy having him for this. Garrus and Vega are good in out and out fights, less so at stealth operations. And Liara needs to stay here, as we discussed already. So he’s who I want with me.”

“Take him, then, I don’t mind.” He shrugged, grimacing and almost seeming to pout a bit. “Was lookin’ forward to seeing him fight a real battle, though. Would have been a hell of a show, Shepard.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure of that too, Wrex.” Damn sure, in fact, and she was kind of upset to not get to see it herself either. But she’d at least get to see him on a stealth op, and that was apparently what ODSTs were good for aside from shock and awe strategies. “I’ll deal with Hackett, Victus can help get the Kodiak up and running, and you get to lead an assault on a fortified position.”

“You know, suddenly I feel like he has the easy job.” Victus complained lightly, for once sounding genuinely enthusiastic about something. 

“Nah, just the fun one.” Wrex laughed, the rumbling sensation drifting through the air and into her bones as he did. Shaking his great head, he asked, “ You got the Turian helping with your shuttle, you need anything else from me?”

“What kind of manufacturing do you have regarding gunpowder munitions?” She asked, smiling thinly in that predatory way she knew amused Wrex so much. “I have an idea that I think you and John will both love.”

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“Eden Prime was passed by in the Reaper’s path to cut off Earth.” Shepard explained, leaning against the wall between the two staircases while the Rookie worked on his submachine gun and listened. “ Hackett’s reports say that it doesn’t matter though, you open on any normal frequency and all you get is distress signals jamming the radio. Lot of the farmland is on fire or at risk of it, and Cerberus is all over the main cities. We don’t know much aside from that, but that they are pushing ‘recruitment’ hard.”

“Hm.” An occupation, then, which was to be expected. The food, industry, and manpower replenishment would be incredibly useful to them. If it wasn’t a requirement for them to be able to prosecute the conflict, that is. “What is the operation?”

“Hopefully, you and I will be using a Kodiak refitted for stealth and headed to Eden Prime on our own.” Hopefully? That didn’t sound very sure, and neither did the commander. “A Prothean site was discovered shortly before the Reapers hit, and Admiral Hackett needs to know what it has we can use, if anything.”

“I see.” He gave his Avenger, leaning against the wall beside his ‘table’, a look and grimaced. “My rifle is unsuited for this mission, Ma’am. I need something suppressed and automatic, and something for room clearing as well.”

“You have your old gear, and I can see that you keep it maintained.” She sounded amused, and when he gave her a curious look and paused in his work on his rifle, her face cracked into a wide smile. “Wrex says he’ll have a crate of ammunition for it up here by the time the Kodiak is ready. It’ll be a day or so, according to the Primarch.”

“I…” His own weapons, in use again and with ammunition to be able to keep doing so if he wished? He’d be lying if he said that didn’t please him. “How much is that going to cost? There are better uses for our resources.”

“Free of charge, the Krogan already make gunpowder and Wrex has a few dozen gunsmiths and ammunition makers churning out goods. I did steal a couple rounds from you to give them to copy, though.” She shrugged and, while he was curious about why the Krogan even bothered with any gunpowder based weapons at all, he ignored his curiosity and let her continue. “He says he admires you, wants to let you fight at full power. I think he just wants to see the damage you can do, though.”

“Ah.” He nodded understandingly and turned back to his work while he thought. It seemed likely enough, if he was honest. “What kind of complement are we deploying with?”

“None.” She said, once again surprising him into silence and stillness and drawing a confused look from him. She smiled apologetically and shrugged like it didn’t matter, rolling her eyes when he kept staring at her in question. “I know I’m hot, Rook, but c’mon. Quit starin’ at a lady.”

“Hm.” He returned to his work and she groaned. 

“C’mon, don’t be a sour puss, John.” She poked his shoulder as she passed, plopping onto his neatly made bed and making a point of messing it up to annoy him. After a second to pout when he didn’t react she went on in a more serious tone. “We’re deploying for a stealth operation. Cerberus shouldn’t know we were there, if we can help it. Get in, get the data we need, get any data we can to the Eden Prime resistance forces, and then leave. So we don’t get a complement of forces going in with us or any active support.”

“Hm.” So a black raid was the name of the game then. No support, no rescue, no reinforcements, high risk, high reward. “Okay, Commander.”

“That’s why I want you on it with me, John.” She smiled, beaming up at him brightly and giving him a look he didn’t quite understand. “We get each other, and we get along, and you have a lot of experience in this shit. So I want you on my back. If you’re willing, of course, you don’t have to.”

“I am.” It was his job, after all, and one he had been doing for years now. Why wouldn’t he be? Especially when the alternative was sending Jane out with someone less competent or no one. “When do I need to be prepared? I’ll need a knife as well.”

“Three days, give or take. Hopefully at least. I, uh, I don’t actually know for sure.” She shrugged, and he understood what she meant. They had preparations to see to before they could go on the mission, and she couldn’t even guess when they could actually go on it. “But within three days, hopefully, unless something goes wrong. Or I’ll change plans, after that time limit hits.”

“It’s that important?”

“It could be the key to the war, John.” She smiled sadly, and he understood just what she meant. Could sympathize with it as well, the desperation for something that could save a species. “So I can count on you?”

“Of course.” As though there was any doubt about that? He was almost offended, though not quite. He nodded, turning to focus on his weapon again closely now that he had a deadline. “Always on standby. You have me whenever you need me, Jane.”

“That’s some dangerous phrasing there, Rook. Might make some promises you don’t mean to, should be careful ‘bout that.” She smirked, teeth and eyes glinting dangerously at him, and his eyes narrowed in confusion and question again. But she ignored it, rolling her eyes and laughing at a joke he’d missed as she stood. “I’m going to go micro-manage some shit like I do, you get some rest. And be ready to move as soon as possible.”

“Understood.” Even if he was somewhat confused by her antics, he was learning well enough to just deal with her weirdness. She shot him another look he didn’t understand, smirking lightly and chuckling at something, and then left without another word.

Still, used to it or not by now, she was odd sometimes.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

A cookie to anyone who knows what amused Shep so much.

Short chapter, with some strategy talk, planning and background building. Next chapter will be the mission on Eden Prime, and Javik. Which I have seen some moderate amount of anticipation over, actually. Which I was not anticipating. 

Also, to those who will wonder, yes. Rookie can opt to use his own weapons now. As I said, the Alliance couldn’t afford to outfit him specially for little to no discernible reason. Wrex, though, can and would for the lols. 

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SD Phantom :

I think I have a niche in interpersonal, character moments and drama. Along with, amusingly enough, melee combat. I wonder if there’s a link there. XD

The Real Mason Mac :

Depends on execution, really. That said, I can’t discuss without spoilers in either direction, confirming that a romance does happen or does not.


	10. Chapter 10

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“The shuttle has been stealthed, and we’ll be hitching a ride with a Turian transport to get out of this system and to the Exodus Cluster. A small Turian flotilla is there supporting defensive measures to combat Cerberus forces in the system, keep them from taking control of the Relay itself.” Shepard explained as they hauled the supplies they were bringing onto the small, blue shuttle. “We’ll be in here for about a week since we have to jump systems in this thing, and it’ll serve as our base while we work on Eden, so get comfortable in here, John. We’re staying for a while.”

“Hm.” So that was why she’d told him to pack food, and made him bring his cot as well. “Understood, Ma’am. I’ll see to my things.”

Inside, a kind of aluminium foil like material had been stretched along the walls, ceiling and floor to keep the heat out of the compartment. Two large boxes too up the back third of the shuttle, see-through tubing connected into the aluminium foil, duct taped thickly around the connection. Presumably to trap the heat so they didn’t melt when the shuttle suppressed its heat venting, based on what he’d studied on the Normandy’s own stealth capabilities. Small and dark blue, it would more than do the job in hiding the shuttle in space.

The seats for it had been removed as well, leaving them space for the two folding cots they’d brought on either side. Against the back of the cockpit, a small, blocky computer had been set up with two smaller boxes next to it and a sea of cables, a small dish beside the main module holding most of them and wrapped in bubble wrap. An item that, apparently, had been invented in both universes and survived the test of time. A crate behind the wrapped dish was clearly labelled as having rations and water, and another beside it for thermal clips and ammo blocks both, with a small clip-venting device on top of them to let them purge their clips if they needed to.

He glanced into the cockpit and saw it empty, turning to unfold his cot and asking, “Pilot?”

“I’m piloting it to the Turian ship, and then out to the Utopia system and down onto Eden prime.” She answered simply, tucking her collapsed Avenger under the cot she’d unfolded followed by her helmet. Tucking a long strand of her bright hair behind an ear, she turned and sat on the cot, leaning back in her armor and explaining further. “Less people involved means less people missing off the ship, and so less questions being asked. Plus, I can pilot, so I figured it would be safer.”

“Hm.” She was right, to be sure. Compartmentalized command and unit role assignment, with as few hands as possible involved, was more than viable in a conflict like this. It was practically a requirement. “Understood.”

“We’ll be confined to the shuttle while on the Turian vessel as well.” She added with a sigh, frowning and shaking her head. “Except for when we eat, which food will be delivered to us if we need it to be but we have rations, and when we go out to use the bathroom where we have to wear full armor with our helmets on, that door stays shut. And we don’t speak either, to the Turians.”

“I see.” That explained why her armor’s N-7 insignia had been covered and the set, formerly black with a red stripe and number, had been recolored a more standard Alliance dark blue, speckled with a hexagonal pattern to break up the form for the operation. “Understood, ma’am.”

“Gonna be good stuck with me for close to a month? In these conditions?” She raised her eyebrow when she asked, and he simply shrugged and offered a small nod. That drew a frown from her and she leaned forward, hands on her knees, “Going quiet again, I see. Chakwas said you were withdrawing a bit…”

“I’m fine.” He assured her, taking off his helmet and tucking it under his cot with his weapons like she had done, shifting aside his own supply of ammunition for his extra weapons. “Just getting into the mindset of the mission. Silence is useful.”

“Just don’t close up on me again. Okay?” He nodded and she relaxed a bit, standing and leaning past him close enough her chest almost brushed his shoulder, pulling the shuttle door shut and turning to head into the cockpit. “We’re casting off then, just relax and enjoy the ride, Rook. Be over ‘fore you know it.”

And he did exactly that, double-checking his stashed submachine gun and pistol and the ammo with it. Satisfied, he reclined on the cot and let his eyes close, forcing himself to accept the rest while he had it.

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“The shuttle is smaller, and can make the jump just fine, but…” He leaned on the door leading into the cockpit and Shepard looked over her shoulder, hair a mess of sweaty clumps after five days already in the heat of the shuttle as it skirted around skirmishes between small groups of ships across the Relay-system. “We’ll feel it, in here, like this. It won’t hurt us, but it’ll shake us up.”

“Hm.” He nodded, looking at the scattered pieces of armor around the cockpit meaningfully. 

“My armor won’t do anything, and it’s too hot to wear it in here. Plus, I...” She glanced at the window and shuddered, hands clenched tight enough into fists to turn white, and he understood immediately. “It won’t help anyways, if something happens, so I-I don’t want it. At least, not right now, I have to clean it and recheck the systems before we land anyways. So I’d just take it all off again tonight.”

Her armor made her anxious, inside the small and helpless shuttle where even a glancing round could send her tumbling through space. She was more comfortable in her bodysuit instead, even if the temperature difference couldn’t possibly be enough to matter. It was her fear that drove her to shed her armor, unlike he himself who had only removed his helmet for the heat, because of what happened to her. And yet, in spite of that ingrained and trauma-built terror he knew she was feeling, she’d volunteered for a mission that she knew would put her right back into it.

Admirable.

“Understood.” In more ways than one, but he wouldn’t challenge her for the same reasons she didn’t force him to talk about things he didn’t want to. 

“I’m angling the shuttle towards the Relay starting now, John.” She said when he turned away to head back into the compartment, looking over an armored shoulder for her to finish. “I can see skirmishes all along the way we have to sneak around. Can you check the thermal-banks, make sure we don’t need to vent?”

“I will.” She gave him a nod, green eyes dimmer than he’d ever seen them, and for a moment he considered staying. Asking what was wrong. 

“John?” She had noticed him lingering in the doorway and turned, one arm on the back of the chair and an eyebrow raised in question. When she smiled in that same way she always did to tease him, it seemed weaker somehow. Like she was forcing it. “What’s up? You know your ‘Tool has a camera, if you just like checkin’ me out, and you’ve been starin’ for a minute now. Why?”

“Thinking.” About things that weren’t his business unless he was asked to get involved in it. So he shrugged simply, stepping through the door and into the passenger compartment. 

Kneeling in front of the Thermal-Banks, he pried the covers off and laid them behind him, careful to the point of paranoia not to damage the covering inside the shuttle. Inside, set onto two brackets about as wide as his shoulders one on top and one on the bottom of the box, glowing orange coils hummed with energy. Forty of them, each half-colored a dark orange bordering on bloody red and half a brighter orange that seemed to crackle with electricity contained inside the cylinders.

Quickly replacing the panels he returned to the commander and poked his head inside, the woman turning her head slightly to hear his report. “The banks are half-filled, Ma’am.”

“Check the thermal wrap too.” She ordered, and he did as she told him, checking every single inch of it for an hour until he was satisfied. Even using his VISR to scan for thermal fluctuations that would indicate a heat leakage somewhere across the material, and finding none. When he reported that, she simply nodded and hummed, “Alright, thanks, John, next I need you to- Radar, shit!”

The shuttle suddenly trembled violently and jolted in a trembling evasive maneuver at the last moment, turning on a sharp angle that would have thrown them against the wall if they’d been inside a gravity well. Instead they had to brace themselves, her on the control console in front of her and he on the door frame, while the shuttle’s computer cried in warning and protest at the maneuver and the what it bright before the Commander righted them and pulled away with the engines flaring to bring them back under control. 

Towards the edge of the system, and away from the large ship sporting Cerberus insignias and scorched from a fight, pulling away from them at thousands of miles an hour. The shuttle matched them, going the opposite direction, and they held their breath for several long seconds spent waiting on an alert on the shuttle’s systems. When nothing came they both relaxed finally, Shepard straightening in her seat and shaking her messy mane of hair irritably.

“Damn it, the shuttle’s radar is on the fritz.” A symptom of how much she’d told him of the shuttles systems had to be gutted he was sure, but he didn’t say that and instead let her vent. “I had to burn the engines in that, but the thermal bank should still have long enough on it. We just need to make the jump and head out of the system and we can vent. Are you okay, John?”

“Yes.” He’d nearly fallen, bruising his off arm a bit instead, but he was fine. Perfect working order, but he knew reporting even the small bruise could upset the Commander. “I’m going to recheck the thermal banks again.”

“Understood, good call, Rook.” She called back to him over a shoulder, running a diagnostic herself. “I’m green across the board again, so I’m turning back to the Relay. Cerberus has a few small groups heading there now, damaged it looks like…”

“The banks are clear as well, Ma’am.” She nodded and he joined her, sitting in the chair beside her and looking ahead of them. Miles away still, he could see three ships moving towards the Relay in a formation, each sporting moderate damage. “We’re going to use the debris they shed as a cover.” 

“Yep.”

“Have you done this before?”

“Yep.” She added, clicking her tongue as she cut the engines to let them drift silently. Turning to look up at him, she smiled slightly and returned to gazing out the window. “In training, for my En-Seven designation, they had us practice infil tactics. How to camouflage our armor with paint, to blend in to whatever we needed,” she gestured with a jerk of her head to the floor, her breastplate, as an example, “survivalist tactics so we could deploy for long periods without support, and how to make jumps like this.”

“Hm.” It made sense, given the job the N7 corps tended to be given.

“Did the, uh… I forget the name, gimme a second here.” She snapped her fingers after a second of thought, grinning ear-to-ear at the remembrance. Still, while her eyes sparked with mirth, they were duller and more listless than normal, and he found himself worrying. “Helljumpers, yeah? Didn’t you learn stuff like this, minus the Relays and all that of course, but same principles?”

“Survivalism yes, the rest no.” He answered quietly, the woman humming as she turned to continue listening. Asking for more, but not pressing him, the way she handled everything between them. Sighing, he continued, “ODSTs are infiltration-saboteurs, deployed via transport or drop-pod. Transports like ours are unable to use Slipspace, and if they were, they’d be detected exiting into normal-space.”

“So no… Analogue to what we En-Sevens do, huh? Not directly, at least.” She clicked her tongue and sucked her cheek, then shrugged. “Makes sense, I guess, for our jobs to not be direct parallels.”

“Why ask?” 

“Just passing the time while we drift, have a few more minutes ‘til we hit the Relay.” She shrugged, jerking her head towards the passenger compartment and reached for her breastplate on the floor, starting to put it on while she spoke. “Go get ready, once we jump we’re bee-lining to the planet. We land in the forest near the Prothean site, scout it out, secure any information we can, and get whatever the hell is down there. Clear?”

“Ma’am.” He nodded, turning to do as she’d asked as they neared the glowing, blue Relay and the Cerberus ships moving towards it with energy arcing along their hulls.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

They landed two miles north of the dig site, opposite the work area and living quarters that had cropped up in the first few weeks after the Prothean site had been discovered and before Cerberus had arrived. There, they’d ripped the insulating fabric out and cast it overhead, pinned to four trees and stretched out wide over the shuttle. Any craft looking for them would pass overhead, and the heat-canopy would hide them well enough from anyone that wasn’t looking for them.

That done, they’d assembled the recall beacon for when they returned. Long range, tied into the Normandy’s quantum entanglement and connected to a Turian dreadnought in the cluster just like it. A short burst, static and nothing more, that would burn out the small power source on both inside four seconds. The captain of the Turian ship would receive it and send everything he had to the Relay, and they would be picked up there by the Turians and returned to Tuchanka.

A lot of moving parts, but they knew they could get in, and both were equipped with detonation charges to destroy the data banks they would find. Along with anything else that looked good for the charges and expensive for Cerberus, to quote the Commander. Onboard the Turian ship, information useful on Eden Prime would be given to a single Turian agent and sent back to the planet, where he would join the Eden Prime Resistance and combat Cerberus ahead of a Turian assault months later.

Assuming even more went right after their mission, but that wasn’t for him to worry about it question. Not until, and unless, he was asked to.

“Eden Prime Resistance is going to be staging riots, big ones, in about ten cities on the other side of the planet.” Shepard explained, kneeling beside the shuttle’s open door and holding her arm at, casting a map of the planet with her Omni-Tool that shifted as she spoke, designating locations and zooming in. “A contact nearby said they saw mass troop mobilization away from the Prothean site, to deal with it. That’ll buy us a few hours to get in, do what we need, and get out.”

“Hm.” Hit and run, then. “Are we going to be eliminating targets in the operation’s area?”

“Yes.” She nodded, and from the way her shoulders straightened and she sucked in a breath, she grimaced. “If we get in there, and it is the skeleton crew it should be, just… Doing patrols and checks, because they won’t have workers in there to see that Cerberus doesn’t have as big a force as they need to really occupy a planet. Then we engage, quickly and quietly as possible, whittling them down until we can’t hide it anymore.”

“Understood.” It was as good a plan as they could hope. Flexible enough to adapt to whatever they found, simple enough to be followed if one of them were cut off or killed. “If something happens, where’s our rally point?”

“If we get separated… We rally here, and if either of us aren’t here at sundown, then the signal gets sent and the shuttle gets packed up.” He nodded, it was more than reasonable and more than fair, neither of them could or would risk everything for the other. The war was too big to do that. “Target priorities are officers and armor, the Eden Prime Resistance fighters can deal with infantry. But Atlases and coordinated tactics? They’ll be decimated, even with Turian support. They’re coming to support our alliance, but the Turians won’t lose a fleet’s worth of infantry for a Human planet.”

“Hm.” Politics. Selfish, dishonest, politics. Rather than respect alliances, they’d leave innocent people to die to keep their people satisfied. Annoying… But understandable, in a dark kind of way. “Understood, Ma’am. Is there anything else?”

“Nope.” She popped the ‘p’ sound, jerking her head to the side, towards their destination. “We just have to march really fast, to get there on time. Like the meanest son of a bitch sergeant from boot camp is right on your ass, Rook.”

“The meanest sergeant…” He shuddered at the memories that brought up, the echoes of the words ringing in his ears, and Shepard noticed the slight flinch and shudder that went through him. But he rose before she could question it, plucking his submachine gun from his hip and shouldering it. “Ready to move, Ma’am.”

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Slinking, crouched and bowed over like a cripple but with his M7S pointed ahead and sweeping in a small semi-circle in front of him, he walked quietly over the roof towards the edge of one of the many pre-fabs that had until now continued endlessly. His VISR pinged around him, highlight entrance and exit points, thin parts of the roof where the two of them would be audible as they moved, and pinging off movement. Hesitating for a moment, he set his M7S on the roof and drew his Magnum while Shepard crouched mutely behind him, facing the way they’d come and scanning the roofs around them for anything worrying. 

Laying almost prone, on his toes and with his off hand holding his chest barely an inch above the metal roof, he poked his head over and swept the weapon across the alley. He saw nothing and, as he had been doing, pinged electronics with his VISR and found nothing that would or could be a monitoring device. Straightening and swapping his Magnum for his M7 he whispered, “Clear.” 

Without another word, he dropped from the roof and knelt, his M7 facing the street at the ready in case he’d missed something. Shepard joined him a moment later, close enough the curve of their spines touched, with her Avenger pointed towards the end of the alley where it curved around to connect to another street. They waited four seconds before either moved, and when they did they did so together, rising in the same spots they had landed in.

Shepard clicked her tongue and he glanced over his shoulder, the woman pointing to him and then the ground where he stop, then making a ‘hold’ signal with an open hand and then pointing at the area just around him with a finger, making a slow circle with it to say where she wanted him. Then she tapped her helmet and pointed ahead of herself at the corner, making a small circle with a hand like she was using a telescope to presumably look around. Understanding, he gave her an ‘okay’ symbol with his right hand and moved to the side, kneeling behind a dumpster there in the otherwise empty alleyway for cover.

“Clear.” Her voice whispered in his ear over their communication unit. “I have eyes on our approach down into the dig site itself. No Cerberus yet.”

“Hm.” Odd, even with a skeleton garrison for the area he’d thought they’d have something in the area. Standing, he glanced through a window beside him that had been left slightly cracked to let a breeze in and saw little out of the ordinary. A chair on its side in an otherwise immaculate area with cerberus designs on the wall. “Moving to you.” He said after a second, VISR pinging again for anything troubling and coming back empty. 

She looked over her shoulder when she heard his approach, the ODST just barely catching her hard green eyes through her visor before she turned back and nodded ahead of them. “Drop off there, I can see the ramp we need to head down going out from under it. We take that down, which should open out right on the dig area.”

“I’ll take point.” It made sense, his weapon was better suppressed than her own. She grumbled about her own, poorly suppressed, weapon but nodded regardless and swapped places with him so he could lean against the corner.

A fault of Mass Effect technology was that weapons had to be engineered to be suppressed rather than having an attachment that was cheap enough to bother using. And such weapons were rare as well, usually, and cost an arm. The modular variants attached to weapons also cost a leg too, and crippled the weapon’s muzzle velocity and grain size-to-fire. Which with how this technology worked, directly affected the damage output of a weapon.

“There’s a lab on the right, or that looks like one.” Shepard went on, pointing her rifle at the building in question. Not that she needed to, it was the only one on the ramp. “We get in there, we get a layout of the area if we can. And any data they have that’s useful. To us, or the Turians and the EDR.”

“How do you want to approach it?”

“I’ll go up on the roof and find a way inside the building itself, look around and use my Omni-Tool to hack whatever I find.” Seeing as she was the only one that knew how to do that, he didn’t have any argument. She pointed ahead of her, at the corner, and went on, “You get there and post up, keep an eye out. My ‘Tool has a short range radio jammer, and I’ll kick it on, so you hear a scuffle inside and you come in through the front. Use whichever guns is quietest and back me up.”

“Understood.” She nodded and he took that as his cue, standing in his half-crouch with his back bowed and his M7 pointed ahead. 

He hesitated at the end of the alley, eyes staring unfocused ahead of himself while he listened for any noise aside from his own breathing or the breeze blowing by. After several seconds he clicked his VISR off, the green highlights and thermal detectors would only make seeing harder in the instant he stepped around the corner, and took a deep breath. 

The small boulevard was meant for walking, not vehicles, and so was narrow and empty, rowed by cement planters too short to use for cover. Across the little paved road, a small railing had been erected for safety along the cliff edge, which was also largely useless to them for cover. The unfortunate choice was the one he took, stepping out of the alleyway and looking first left and then right for anything dangerous like a child looking both ways to cross a road, and listening for any reaction besides. When none came he stepped sideways, glancing to the railing to measure his pacing and then turning in a circle to keep his eye on every direction until he reached it. 

Kneeling and glancing over the edge to check the distance, around ten feet and nothing he’d not made before, he nodded and gave Shepard an ‘okay’ symbol. She returned it and he laid a hand on the railing, vaulting it in one go. His legs protested as he landed and his hand helped to watch him, forcing a grunt from his throat before he could stop himself, but he rose in his half-crouch without hesitating and scanned the area immediately ahead of him. Seeing it was clear he moved to the close edge of the building and knelt there to catch his breath from the fall and, more importantly, send a ‘Clear’ message to Shepard.

He heard her drop with a quiet grunt of her own, and the sound of her armor impacting as well, and gave her a look as she moved towards him. She gave him a quick nod and he slid forward, letting her occupy his spot on the corner. The woman behind him stood a bit taller as they moved forward, her rifle over his off shoulder though he knew she’d be watching her motion tracker behind them as they went. They stopped halfway down the path at the ladder, nestled between a line of air ducts on one side and a heavy pipe that likely funneled power and water both into the area, given that it hit the ground and turned to head the way they came, and then climbed the cliff they’d dropped down and vanished into the earth there.

“Plant one of the small remote charges on the pipe, where it’ll damage the building too.” She ordered, collapsing her Avenger and putting a hand on a rung of the ladder. “I’ll scout out ahead and tell you what I see.”

“Hm.” He nodded, setting his M7 against the side of the ladder while she climbed and quickly fishing out one of the small metal disks, barely the width of his hand and half that thick. He flicked a small green switch on the charge and tucked it between the pipe and the wall, facing up and covered in some leaves and dirt that would make it just a touch harder to find.

“Plenty of cover up here to hide behind, so I’m moving to the front edge.” He didn’t bother telling her to stay low and avoid attention, he knew she’d already know it. Instead he simply clicked his communicator on and off twice in an ‘acknowledged’ signal and hope she got it. He assumed she did because a moment later her voice came back over the link, quieter now in spite of her helmet being audio suppressed, “Four in the courtyard in front of the building, two over by the cliff, one at the bottom of the front ladder down, and one at your corner.”

Internally, he swore at the bad luck - or proper placement of Cerberus’ troops, as they seemed to have withdrawn from the edges of the small work-settlement to protect the important items - and thanked Shepard for her scouting. Peeking around the corner would have gotten him caught and now as he moved towards it, he did so with more care for his sounds and knowing not to let himself lean around the corner at all. Instead, he pressed against the wall a few inches back from the corner, and clicked his communicator at Shepard again.

“I can see inside through a ladder-hatch.” Her voice came back a second later, voice cutting out as she no doubt used the vantage to get a proper look inside. “I see a couple Engineers inside, working on weaponry and… One’s on a computer, doing something I can’t tell what. Has to be related to the Prothean Site or Cerberus’ activities though. Neither are paying attention, and motion tracker isn’t registering anything else.”

“Are you going to engage?” 

“Yeah.” She paused, presumably to plan, and then her voice piped up in his ear once again. “I’m going to kill the two Engineers and then open the door that Trooper is beside. You make a noise, he turns, door opens up, he turns back and catches my Omni-Blade in his throat. Then you come around and drag him behind your corner.”

He clicked the communicator again, attaching the M7 to his armored thigh with the maglocks and drawing his knife in his right and his M6 in his other, just in case. The knife was curved and heavy, long as his forearm and thick as his pinky, of Krogan design and a gift directly from Wrex. The handle was wider than he needed, but firm and balanced with the knife itself, wrapped in aged leather that gave it super grip.

A perfectly functional weapon to replace his lost one.

A couple minutes passed with the black-armored soldier waiting behind the corner before he heard Shepard’s signal and banged his arm against the metal wall. It had the desired effect, he assumed, because he heard the Cerberus soldier murmur a curious question and then heavy boots moving towards him.

With an electric whir, the door around the corner opened and the soldier grunted a confused, “Wha-”

The sound was cut off by the hissing of boiling liquid and he moved, wrapping hs gun hand around the man’s face, he yanked and buried his knife between the plating on his front and back, the metal stabbing up under his ribs just in case and as much to kill him as for leverage to move the heavy body. He saw Shepard recede and the door shut, the ODST hauling the man around the corner and hurling him onto the ground as carefully as he dared waste time on before he slid back against the metal wall with his gun-hand held across his body towards the corner readily.

“No response, they missed it, or they’re faking for some reason. But I doubt that, they didn’t even respond.” Shepard said quietly after a full, tense minute of waiting. “Check him for anything useful and report in.”

He sent the clicks again and turned, swapping his weapons out again and first checking if the man was somehow alive. He very much wasn’t, blood pooling out of the knife wound in his side that had no doubt cut up into the arteries around his heart and head barely attached by his spine and cauterized meat around it. Checking him for anything interesting and finding nothing, he rolled him over against the wall haphazardly, then palmed some of the blood and made a streak on the wall at his approximate head height. The gun he laid by the corner, far enough back to not be seen, and then he drew his knife and plunged it twice more into his side in awkward stabs that went around his original one. 

Now it looked like he’d been ambushed around the corner by some resistance fighter or upset family member that hadn’t known what they were doing. Which would discourage them looking around and finding his bomb. Then he plucked the small grenade off the dead man’s belt and looked it over, considering trapping the body for a moment before setting it on his belt instead when he couldn’t discern how the small orb worked beyond the red button he presumed would set it to detonate.

No time to spend figuring it out, and without it he couldn’t safely rig his trap. Better not to.

Sheathing the knife on the back of his waist, he flicked on his communicator, “Nothing on him, Ma’am. If they didn’t react to that, they must have left behind their weaker fighters to do patrols and staffing and sent out their better ones to fight.”

“Must mean they’re even worse staffed than we thought… That’ll be useful to tell the Turians, means they can push harder.” She sounded pleased but also oddly thoughtful and distracted, but a moment later she spoke again. “I’m in their computers here, this is they’re maintenance area apparently. They usually have Atlas units here, four of them, but they’ve all been assigned to units and are listed as ‘deployed.’”

Which meant they weren’t here or nearby enough to matter, since the Eden Prime fighters were only supposed to be fighting hundreds of miles away. 

“Any access to a unit roster?” It would help, but he doubted it would be in the same place. It wouldn’t make any sense for it to be, after all.

“No, just armored units, transports, and heavy weapons...” Shepard answered quickly, the ODST grimacing but accepting the answer. “But if that’s the case, let me check and see if I can do something.” A few seconds passed before she spoke again, now sounding hurried and anxious. “Okay, I have access to their shuttle-tracking systems. There’s one on it’s way back, and it has an Atlas.”

That they couldn’t bring down with their weaponry, she didn’t need to add and he didn’t need to point out. Instead he simply asked, “How do you want to handle this?”

“You told me your magnum had an integrated scope feature, right?” Two clicks, a yes to her question, and while she sounded aggravated as she spoke and he assumed it was because of that, she didn’t dwell on it. Instead, “Alright, I’m going to rush the furthest one on my right, you dome the two by the cliff.” 

“We do that fast, and we move on to the bridge. I have a map here that says their communications hub is over there, and their lab with it. So once we get spotted crossing that bridge, which would have happened anyway as out in the open as it is, we’re on a timer.” The plan was simple enough, if rushed considering their circumstances. “Unless you have a better plan? I’d like a better plan.”

He didn’t because she was right, the black bridge that hung out over the chasm below and connected to the other courtyard was open air. They’d get spotted moving across it, so he just sent back a simple, “No.”

“Okay, once you pop them I’ll move.” He clicked his communicator again, moving towards the corner with his Socom in his main hand and his M7 gripped in the other, a hand on the pistol grip and the butt tucked against his shoulder. “Ready when you are, Rook.”

Taking a steadying breath, he sidestepped a few times until he could see the back of one of the Cerberus soldiers and knelt down, the Magnum aimed at them for a few seconds before he saw the one facing roughly towards him jerk his helmet towards him and flinch. He fired two quick rounds, both of which punched into his helmet with the muted ‘thwips’ of his advanced suppressor. The second shouted something he couldn’t make out and spun, grey rifle snapping towards him, but two more rounds punched into his helmet as well before he could actually fire. Quickly stepping around the corner, his Magnum snapped to the only movement he saw in time to see Shepard yanking her glowing blade out of a Trooper’s stomach, letting him fall away and turning to nod at him. 

“Now, we run. I’ll get there first and draw fire for you, roger?” She said, rolling her shoulders and then launching from where she stood when he nodded. 

The ODST’s legs pumped their hardest, taking long strides across the dirt as the Specter drew away from him, the lithe and lighter armored woman more suited for displays of pure speed. A burst of rifle fire slammed into her chest, sparking blue as her shields caught it and her arm snapped up with her Predator in her hand. Five rounds barked from it in loud consecutive cracks that rolled across the open area, and he saw the closest Trooper on the other end fall, his running turned into a tumble that sent his limp frame off the side of the metal bridge and over the edge of the chasm below it.

More gunfire answered, eight Troopers moving into the courtyard on the other end of the bridge emerging from buildings as though summoned by magic, slamming into cover as Shepard’s impossibly accurate returning fire cut down two more. The woman slammed her shoulder into one of the struts sticking up from the platform hard enough he heard metal hit metal and the woman cry out, but she pushed off it and launched towards the Cerberus soldiers impossibly fast as though the pain didn’t bother her. 

Grabbing the nearest strut on the platform to pull himself to a stop instead of replicating her stunt, he raised his Socom and emptied it into a Trooper standing in the open a hundred feet away. The rounds, influenced by the range and his own suppressor, glanced off the heavy armor with little gain save making the soldier jerk in kinetic response. His rifle snapped towards him, before his head snapped back under a burst of automatic fire from Shepard’s Avenger as the woman slammed into cover by the body and it fell over the crate behind him next to her.

On that side of the bridge, three rows of crates stacked up man high between the two buildings. Behind the front two rows, the five remaining Cerberus soldiers huddled - spread out evenly enough that they could fire on Shepard from several different angles with more relative safety. The woman rose, letting rounds spark harmlessly off her body as she fired long bursts into two of them and they collapsed in bullet ridden piles laid over the second row of crates, before he joined her behind the cover.

“Which building is the lab we need?” He asked, the woman glancing at him from behind her helmet and jerking a thumb over her shoulder at the left hand one. 

Nodding, he rose and turned, pulling the grenade off his belt and pressing the little button to arm it. It flashed red and he stepped out of cover, shields sparking as rounds slammed against him, and threw it towards the other building. It hit the wall and bounced, landing a dozen feet away behind the third row of crates. It went off with a loud crack like lightning, hurling the crates forward and scattering the Cerberus fighters. A crate crushed one before he could move and Shepard leapt over her crates with a howl like a banshee.

Her glowing blade hummed through the air as the two Cerberus Troopers backpedaled, rifles coming up to fire on her. She cut down through one’s rifle and then lunged forward, and in one smooth motion, impaled him on it and crouched, the dying soldier falling across her shoulders and shielding her from the desperate burst of fire that the other dumped into their brethren. His M7 sounded in muted, dull thwips, a dozen rounds ripping into his back before the Cerberus drone stumbled forward under the weight of fire with one hand clutching at his bloodied back. Then finally, he fell to his knees, then his stomach and went still.

“One, don’t throw grenades without warning me. Especially Cerberus grenades.” Shepard started as he moved towards her, the woman trading out one thermal clip for her at least mostly spent one. “Two, clear that building, and plug this,” she held up a small chip the size of his thumb, “into something in there. A main console, if you can find it.”

“Ma’am.” He nodded, unperturbed by her chastising remarks and turning to the building while she moved off towards the lab building. 

The crates had been scattered from the explosion, the uniform rows broken up now and mixed with the now dead Cerberus fighters. The side of ‘his’ building had also been blackened by the explosion, rips in the metal curling away up the wall. Inside, the small building was predictably designed. A long center column and thick metal walls, all lined with computer terminals. 

Some were now damaged, along the wall where his grenade had gone off, but the rest hummed with life and he could pick out communication consoles and radar monitoring ones among them. A communications building, which meant that this chip would probably 

“John…” Shepard’s voice sounded pained and stiff, cracking as she said his name, and he flinched. “John, I found what they dug up and… And I’m going to open it, I know how. Get over here.”

“On my way.” He jammed the chip into the biggest of the computers and turned, planting his two remaining charges on either end of the building and then jogging out the door and towards the other building. 

Inside that one, the walls were rowed by thicker computer banks and terminals, all humming warmly like the other building’s. But instead of radio and radar consoles, these were smaller screens with more seats for more workers, and monitoring equipment displaying data feeds he couldn’t understand. In the middle was a long, black cylinder laid out on a pedestal that looked to be made of the same material. 

“This fucking war…” She was typing away at a pad on it when he stepped behind her, her helmet on the ground next to her. “First a god damn dimension hopper, or whatever you are, then EDI gets a damn body, and now…” The pod hissed and she smiled, shaking her head slowly in disbelief as she rose. “Liara is going to kill me for not bringing her along.”

“Why?” She stood, pushing against one end of the pod’s lid while he pushed the other at a look from her. “What is it?”

“Because this is a Prothean, alive and well and that means- Hand!” Her warning came too late, the green fingers fastening around his wrist and sending what felt like electricity along his body. Another grabbed his armor and as he stumbled back on stiff legs, Shepard grabbed both their arms to try and break the alien’s grip and pull him away.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Shepard blinked at the sunlight, before her rounded visor polarized and she heard a man in front of her rasp, her eyes snapping down to a man dressed in matte black armor and bleeding from several wounds. She reached for her pack, words coming out without her actually speaking them, “Sir, you’re wounded, I need to-”

“Shut up and listen, Rookie!” He grunted, adjusting himself with one arm and startling her with the tone. Firm, resigned, accepting of what they both knew from his wounds and the blood flowing would mean. “There’s something important I have to tell you. About friends. Betrayal. Loss. If you keep your head up and do what I tell you, you might even live long enough to tell someone what happened here…”

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Rookie’s particle rifle came up, cutting down one, then two and then three, then four Husks as they rushed towards him and he backpedaled with his partner at his side. Primitive projectile weapons scattered fire around them, and he felt several impact his armor and jar him before he heard his fellow cry out and he turned. The man limped back, one arm clutched against his side weakly while his particle rifle lanced awkwardly in single-handed fire. 

Roaring, he turned as the green energy of elemental power flowed around him and blasted out at the gun-armed abominations. The energy struck them, dissolving them as he turned and rushed to his fellow, “Come, brother, we must get inside. Computer, seal the bunker! We have been betrayed and must hope that the bulkheads can hold out on their own.”

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Javik shoved the cripple into the pod before the ship shuddered violently around him and jerked, nearly yanking him free as the gravity well began to take hold of him. The man looked at him, their eyes meeting, and cried out, “Shepard!”

Again it rocked and he managed to fist the launch mechanism before he was wrenched from the wall. He floated free for a moment before an explosion sounded and he cracked against a wall hard enough to see stars. Literally, by the time his sight returned and he saw pieces of his ship drifting by and blackness around him as he was thrown away. Then his helmet chimed a warning and he felt something come loose, gasping for air and reaching back to the tube that pumped air into his helmet. 

He realized far before he turned, jerking at the tubes desperately, that he was going to die out here.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

To note for everyone as my gun fights are… Cluster fucky at the best of times, John and Shep shared a kill, then he picked off two more while Shep killed another. Then he killed another with his grenade - a crate got him - an Shepard got the rest, with assistance from our resident ODST. Hope you all enjoyed what I wrote either way, though.

I may misquote things from time to time, I can’t find direct game or book quotes for Javik, Gage or the like. I ask for patience in dealing with that… Honestly unforeseen outcome. Which is why this mission was different than in-game, because I wanted a more stealth-centric, duo mission. And it makes kind of sense considering the politicking happening between the various militaries, for Turians to be fighting Cerberus on Human worlds and such and such.

Also to explain the last three scenes, these are being experienced by the characters through the Prothean contact information sharing. In-game, Shepard saw Javik’s last moments after seeing the others in those data stores, and here she saw the important ones too. Rookie gets all of them, though, while Shepard gets Dirt and afterwards, and Javik gets to ‘die’.

All because Shepard serves as a translator between then two and a link for the information. Just wanted that explained to everyone in more detail.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

7th Maniac :

I hope this satisfied as a realistic display of him in a stealth op, with a mixed in ambush firefight on top of it. I hope both went well enough.

SSJ 1998 :

I won’t rush a romance, promise. I’ve honestly got the ending and midpoints of this story preplanned, the romance or lack thereof is pure organic character growth. If it genuinely works for them to get together and get in bed, I will. If them dating but not being physical works, do that too. If them being best friends, or like siblings, works, then that will be the route that goes.

Yexius :

About that~

Predator 1701 :

This is actually based largely on my interpretation of various things. Including Rookie’s lack of voice lines, constant napping, and efficiency on his own in the field. I’m glad it is pleasing. 

Guest I :

Javik doesn’t get to see that, he gets to experience something else instead. While Shepard and Rook experience things too, things to that tactile memory sharing and Shepard’s connection to both of them in that moment.


	11. Chapter 11

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“What is wrong with my soldier, Prothean?” She demanded loudly, head throbbing in the same rhythmic thrumming as when she’d touched the Beacon on this very planet. Pointing at him where he lay, propped against the wall by, she demanded further, “What’s wrong with him? He’s not even moving, and my HUD says his vitals are way too low to be conscious and too high to be asleep.”

“He’s going through mental shock from an unprepared, weak mind attempting to absorb all the sensory input of whatever he saw all at once. Combined with the forced translation of my language into his mind, along with everything I knew of my time and world.” The ancient alien glanced over a red-armored shoulder, seeming to raise a scaly brow in a distinctly Human gesture. “This is where I would tell you to imagine an entire lifetime, culture and language being crammed into your brain over the course of a moment, but you know what that does already. Do you not?”

“His mind isn’t weak.” She knew that for a damn fact now, even looking at his semi-conscious body she felt a tremor of fear worm through her heart. The Prothean hummed, obviously unconvinced, and she instead asked, “What do we do to help him? We have to move, Cerberus has got to be on its way.”

“I know all you did, and my mind is advanced enough to process the foreign information for use.” He waved a hand at himself, smirking, “Hence my speaking in your primitive tongue instead of my imperial one.”

“Knock the ‘primitive’ shit off while we’re deployed, Prothean. Especially when you put one of my men on their ass.” She didn’t have time for it and, luckily enough, he seemed to understand that as well and inclined his head understandingly at the demand. “Now I’m asking twice because you’re an endangered species and I haven’t made any of those extinct yet. What do we do about him?”

“In my time, he would be left to die. Perhaps with traps laid on or around him to slow the Reapers, unless we executed him for the mercy of it.” He gave her a look that spoke of weariness and quietly said, “I suppose that is, as your species would say, ‘off the table’, however?”

“Off the table, down the toilet, and spaced into the fucking sun.” 

“Then we must leave, now. We have no other options but to do that and simply hope it works out, as grand a strategy as that is.” With a tired sigh, the alien reached down and plucked the fallen submachine gun from the ground, standing and turning to her. “You will have to carry him, I am afraid. My touch would send him spiraling into-”

Suddenly, the ground quaked violently under them, and they slammed against the wall, one to each side of the door with Shepard covering the downed and unconscious ‘Trooper with her own body while Javik was on the other side, holding a humming and glowing green rifle in his hands. Outside, hidden behind a massive and spreading smokescreen that obscured where they had come from at the base of the ramp earlier, a massive hulking form loomed forward with heavy, trundling steps. Above it, a black and white Kodiak came to a halt, doors sliding open as a dozen Cerberus troopers dropped from twenty feet up, landing scattered around the lumbering form of the Atlas.

“Atlas...” Shepard said quietly, watching the Cerberus soldiers fan out across the area and smiling, raising a hand as her ‘Tool flickered to life and grinning. Seeing this, Javik looked to her in question, and she explained simply, “Shouldn’t have landed their armor next to their fuel stores.”

The explosion shook them even more violently than the semi-atmospheric entrance that had sent shockwaves across the area. As they watched, the engineering building exploded first in three small charges like little puffs of light and smoke that had the Cerberus soldiers kneeling or running for cover in an instant and instinctive response. The second explosion was so bright Shepard’s eyes winced at it, electric blue and wafting orange fire spewed for a dozen feet in every direction while the blue of refined Element Zero fuel ignited and burned at the same time in a raging inferno of pure energy that atomized everything caught in it and blackened anything on its edges beyond recognition. 

Four Troopers, investigating the building itself, were thrown back by the first explosions and then atomized along with most of the ground and two other Cerberus soldiers as the Eezo flared outward. And the Atlas, lumbering towards the ramp to keep an eye on the Troopers and to support them with its heavy weapons, lurched as the powerful explosion slammed into it, and then sparked as the Eezo fuelled energy washed across it from its cannon-armed right side to its claw-armed left. 

Finally, the concussive and heat filled blast wave slammed into their building, shattering windows and shaking it again like a cage in a giant child’s hands. She and the Prothean seized the opportunity, stepping through the door one after the other and sending bursts of fire and lances of particle energy across the space between them and the drunkenly staggering Troopers. Several staggered towards, or away, from them but did so lethargically and weakly, stumbling like toddlers until their fire ripped into them and threw them to the ground smoldering, blackened earth beneath them.

She watched the Atlas, side glowing molten orange and sagging, try to rise once before Javik stepped past her, glowing brightly green and with his hand outstretched. As she watched, three tendrils of Prothean Biotics lashed out against the cockpit like whips, carving through the softened armor, cracking glass and the man inside like hot knives attached to a whip and sent through the snow. With a flick of his hands, the tendrils snapped outwards in three different directions, ripping the front of of the Atlas wide open and tossing it onto its back with a dull, surprisingly wet thud.

What once had been green and grey civilization, short grass pock-marked with flowers and cut through by small railings and the like, was now a black crater cut into the ground. The building had been melted down to a couple feet of glowing, sparking energy, water flowing out of a pipe in the ground where the cliff had been sputtered out onto the metal and sent steam crawling into the air. Towards the edge of the cliff, the ruined Atlas and dead or dying Cerberus soldiers lay. 

“I got him, you keep an eye out.” Shepard ordered shortly, turning and stepping back into the laboratory, pulling Rookie onto her shoulders and heaving him up with a grunt. Stepping through, she handed the Prothean his submachine gun and pistol and drew her Predator, “You lead, I follow. Since you said you had all my knowledge, I’m assuming you know where we need to go?”

“Indeed, Jane. I shall endeavor to protect you, assuming you can keep my pace properly.” He bowed his carapaced head and turned, loping off towards the smoldering ruins almost like a predator. 

Rolling her eyes, she made to follow him without a word.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“Forward, Shepard! I will follow!” The Prothean cried as they ran through the forest, the armored and unconscious form across her shoulders sparking as a stray round glanced off its shield. Howling in anger, the Prothean stepped out from behind the tree fully, energy lancing out before him and ripping the Cerberus soldier who had done it in half while he bellowed at the other pursuers, “Face the wrath of the ancient power you dared think you could use, Reaper pawns!”

Behind her, the elastic and electric sounds of the Prothean Biotics faded along with the cries and the gunfire. She never hesitated, knowing somehow precisely how capable he was with his rifle even though she’d never seen him before today. Or seen him fight with it much either, he tended to use his odd Biotics to rip and tear at his enemies if he could manage it without too much trouble.

Damn mind meld, or whatever it was, had wreaked havoc on her and John but at least it had that use.

“Sorry about this, Rook. But hey, it’s fine, Mama Shep’ll tuck you in for bed. Maybe read you a story later.” She grunted with effort borne of carrying him all that way and running the entire time, stepping into the shuttle when she got there and dumping him onto a cot unceremoniously and wrapping several thick ties around his chest to keep him tucked. With a foot, she flicked on the beacon for the Turians, watching it flare to near neon light for two solid seconds before sparking out of existence. “Not that the stealth part of that is important anymore, but hey, we need the ride…”

Ducking back inside and tossing her helmet on the cot beside John, she went to the cockpit and started the minutes long process of getting it up and running. No sooner had the engines kicked on, the shuttle hovering an inch off the dirt floor, did she hear something thud into the cockpit and turn, Predator leveled at Javik, his rifle steaming and the alien looking exhausted flopped out on the shuttle floor. 

“Shepard-”

“Yep.” With the press of a button, she sealed the cockpit - damn the tarp and everything else, Cerberus could have it - and took off, screeching into the sky. “Hold on back there, gonna take a sharper climb than I did coming down.”

“Must you do that? ” Javik asked, bracing himself regardless and making her grin. Sighing in an almost Turian sounding way, the alien sighed and said, “But of course you do. I should have known better than to climb into something you were the pilot of.”

“Yep.” He really should have, with her memories and experiences in his head and all. Blinking as they rocketed up and gravity slammed her against her seat, she shouted back, “Hey, Javik, does that mean you know about-”

“I do not wish to speak about the memories of yours I have subsumed. Not until I have time to sift through them and remove the useless ones from my mind.” She rolled her eyes but didn’t comment and, after a second of silence aside from the shuttle’s engines rocketing them up through the atmosphere, he added, “I hope these Turians arrive on time. I do not enjoy the idea of dying just yet.”

“Well, I have the signatures of an entire Turian flotilla coming towards the planet, so…” She grinned, pushing the engines even harder to escape the Cerberus signatures on their tail, far enough to not be able to do anything but clearly following them. “I think we’re good, don’t stress over it.”

“I will believe that when we are safely aboard the primitive ship, Shepard.”

“Yeah, figured that would be your answer.” She’d have to work on getting that racism, or whatever it was, out of him at some point… It wouldn’t be conducive to her kind of ship, she just knew it. 

The Miranda protocol it was then.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“Shepard, what’s wrong? Your message didn’t-” She held up a hand as she stepped out of the shuttle, taking her helmet off and laying it on a nearby table, as she moved past the Asari to sit on a crate a few feet from the shuttle door. Anxiously, the Asari started again, “Shepard, whatever has happened, please do not leave me waiting on the news. 

“Liara, I need you to take a nice, deep breath, and stay calm about what you are about to see and hear about.” She said, stepping out of the cramped shuttle and enjoying the feeling of fresh air on her head for the first time in a month. Raising her voice, she added, “Everyone not Liara and myself, vacate the engineering department. EDI, tint the engineering section’s windows and route camera feeds to a recording segment to be sent to Admiral Hackett. Live feed, if possible at all.”

“I will route through the QEC channels then.” The AI answered after Cortez and Vega, along with the few Alliance Navy members that had been there, filed into the elevator and left. “Sealing elevator access until you give the command otherwise, Commander. And video-audio connection to Admiral Hackett has been confirmed. I cited a class one priority order, and so he is watching.”

“Of course, the one time I wish I couldn’t reach him…” Sighing, she shook her head and turned back to Liara, pointing behind her at a crate. “Sit girl.”

“Shepard, I am not a pet that you can simply-”

“Sit. Girl.” She intoned again, pointing twice at the crate before the Asari, with a roll of her eyes, finally did so with one leg crossed over the other with her arms laced over her chest. “Good girl. Now you get a treat. Javik, get your scaly ass out here, everything's ready as best as I can possibly set this up to be any kind of ready.”

“Shepard, your tone with me is ever-annoying and disrespectful. Though that may be befitting of your primitive race, I am markedly not a member of it.” The Prothean sounded more tired than offended though, and she grinned at the small victory of her finally whittling him down from prideful indignation to tired resignation. Stepping out of the shuttle, his eyes landed on a confused looking Liara, and he asked, “This is the Asari who knows of my people?”

“Yep. Leading Prothean expert, and she helped me process the Cipher and the visions I had received from the Beacon on Eden Prime back in the day.” Looking to the Asari, mouth half-open in disbelief, surprise and a sort of excitement that sparked in her eyes, Shepard explained. “The ‘Prothean resource’ Cerberus was trying to get under their wing was, get this, an actual god damn Prothean.”

“I still do not understand why you ask your god to damn so many things, Shepard-”

“A live Prothean?” The Asari leapt off the crate, launching herself close enough to Javik to nearly touch her chest against his, looking over his armor and figure like something wondrous for her, speaking with a voice high and filled with ecstatic wonder. “You must allow me to ask some questions of you! I have spent nearly a century, a decade until I have done so fully as a matter of fact, studying what little is left of your culture and peoples, and I-”

“Be calm, Asari.” He cut in, stepping back from her and turning to the side, an arm held slightly up between them as though to ward her off. “I will consider answering whatever questions you have for me later. For now, we have a matter for your attendance. Something I believe only you can deal with.”

“What do you need?” The shift between nearly childish excitement and crisp business was instant, and something Shepard had anticipated as the monogendered alien turned to her. “You mentioned the Prothean Cipher and the visions, so I assume something to that end is needed here as well?”

“Javik, could you explain? In detail, for the Admiral.” She waved a hand around her, shrugging, and added for explanation, “Normally not how we do debriefs, and Admiral Hackett knows that too. But in a second you’ll get the reason why we’re doing it this way.”

“My species can communicate information through touch. Total sensory inputs, and even knowledge and memory transfers. Entire languages, histories, skills and professions can be transferred from person to person in an instant.” He gestured to himself, voice warbling slightly as though something were bothering him slightly as he spoke. “In my training, all the skills at arms I needed to know were granted to me in a single week of contact. Though my body had to be hardened after by physical stress.”

“Such a thing sounds similar to Asari mind melding capabilities, as I understand what you are talking about.” Bright eyes, full of barely contained excitement and wonder at every sound Javik made, she turned on Shepard again. “What has happened?”

“As I awakened from stasis, I suffered from long length stasis-shock, and in that condition my mind and physiology was not entirely my own.” As good a way as ‘I flailed in panic and attacked them’ was likely to be explained by the proud alien, Shepard was sure. “As such, when I laid hands on John, my mind instinctively latched onto his in demand of information. A two way street, and one his mind was unprepared for.”

“He needs help, Liara.” Shepard explained, gesturing a hand at the shuttle and then the Prothean in turn. “While we were crammed in there, Javik… Maintained him, but he’s a soldier and nothin’ else. He doesn’t know how to help reorder memories and thoughts the way your species can, and you’re the only one that can meld and has access to the Prothean Cipher.”

“I don’t have the Cipher, Shepard.” She pointed out, gesturing at the commander herself with a nod. “You have it.”

“I know.” She sighed, scratching at her messy mop of sweat-flattened hair and grunting. “I looked it up on the ‘Net while we were on the Turian ship. Asari can share memories, too, in a deep enough Meld.”

“Shepard, I… That would be...” She swallowed, shaky legs carrying the young Asari back to the crate, sitting with her hands on her knees and eyes boring into the ground while she thought. “Such a deep Meld is not something done lightly, Shepard. If I make a mistake, any mistake, I could permanently damage your mind alone. Much less what would be required to transfer, or more likely copy over, the Cipher into him.”

“This… It’s not his war, Liara.” She waved a hand around herself, gesturing in a sweeping motion at the entirety of the Reaper War and everything it entailed. “It’s not his war, not his fight, but he’s doing it anyway. Risking his life for planets and people that aren’t in any way connected to him. Some of ‘em aren’t even Human, and the only aliens he’s really known have almost all been trying to wipe his species out.”

“He… Doesn’t care. I saw his memories in that connection, lived his life in large parts, and...” She went on, the two aliens - and Hackett, she knew, but couldn’t bring herself to care right now - simply listening as she spoke. “That man is the one person I would understand being a raging racist, the only one who if he joined Cerberus right now, I’d say he was justified. Instead, he’s fighting for us, and almost all of it has been on an alien world.”

“But the risk…” Liara sighed, shaking her head and giving the woman a look. Searching for answers and assurances, and to make sure that her friend knew exactly what was at risk. “Shepard, you will open everything you are to me. Do you understand that? Every fiber of your being will be there for me to see, and change if I want to.”

“I trust you not to.” Shepard said simply, shrugging and continuing on without pause. “I am willing to put my very being in your hands, because I trust you with it. And because my teammate needs it. He’s earned that at least, with everything he’s been through. He doesn’t deserve to be left like this.”

“Then, if you truly understand… I will do it, and pray to the Goddess that it does not fail. Or worse.” The Asari looked to the sky and added, in an almost pleading tone, “Assuming of course that the good Admiral does not have anything against it to say?”

“I don’t like it, but there’s nothing I can do about it except remand him to a medical facility. But that wouldn’t stop Shepard doing what she wants about it, it’s her own mind and body after all.” The Admiral’s voice was staticy, cast out over the ship’s intercom system however EDI had connected it to the QEC for his part of the conversation. “As far as that is concerned, I don’t get to have an opinion. Officially at least.”

“Unofficially?” Shepard asked curiously, head tilted back and brow raised in curiosity. 

“Be careful, Shepard.” He said simply, not expounding on it beyond that. “As for the Prothean… Do you have scientific education to help us fight the Reapers?”

“I am simply a soldier, and would like to fight under the Commander. Beyond my ability to take life, I have nothing to offer.” Liara deflated slightly at that information, and the Prothean either missed it or - more likely - ignored it, leaning against a crate and closing his bright yellow eyes comfortably. “Beyond that wish, I have nothing to offer.”

“I’ll… Get in touch with the Council then, inform them of what’s happened, and get everything on that end running. As for you yourself, Javik if I remember right...” Hackett sighed tiredly, sending static across the connection slightly before he continued, “You’re welcome aboard the Normandy as far as I’m concerned. And I’m about the only one left with rank to have an opinion.”

“Then I look forward to taking the fight to the Reaper threat to avenge my people.” Seemingly done speaking, the Prothean relaxed against the wall and said nothing else. 

“Keep me apprised of the situation as it develops, Doctor T’Soni.” Hackett added as well, seemingly just as finished with the topic. “I have to get to dealing with other matters, consider the status of the Prothean classified for a while but don’t let it affect how you behave. Deploy him if you want, Commander.”

“Got it. Good luck, Admiral.”

“Same to you, Commander.” A second before his voice cut out, she heard him just murmur, “You’ll need it…”

Looking at Liara the woman took a deep breath and smiled nervously, “So, Doc, how do we do this?”

“We need Chakwas, monitoring softwares, and two hospital beds.” She started, standing and calling out to EDI, “EDI, can you contact Doctor Chakwas and have her get everything set up, and send a medical attendant to help us move John to the infirmary?”

“Both are underway. Please stand by.”

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“Mister Doe, please, ret and hear me.” He flinched, eyes closed against the voice and its presence, and the ache both brought. It echoed around him and through him, like the chill of the stasis pod and the bites of rounds that had pockmarked against his armor and biotic barrier. “Lance Corporal, listen to-”

He shoved the voice away with a hand, or what he thought was his hand at least. He hadn’t moved. Or had he?

His head hurt at the question, and he shoved that away too with the hand or whatever he was using for it. It didn’t matter, all that mattered was sleep. Rest, finally, after what felt like a century or more...

 

The presence pushed against him again, like hands gripping at his arms but fading through them instead, and he ignored it. Three more times he felt it try before he finally snapped and asked, through the pounding in his head that only grew with each second he did not sleep, “What do you want?!”

“To help you, John. You were-”

“Then let me sleep.” Again he shoved the presence away and, for a moment, he felt nothing and began to slip to sleep past the throbbing in his head. 

“Gage Yevgenny would be disappointed in you.” A new voice, sharper, clearer and more cutting said. Whispering the words in his ear, like a lover whispering poison. Close enough he imagined he could feel her breath on his neck. “What kind of soldier rolls over and gives up like this?”

He was tired of fighting, he wanted to sleep…

“No, no you don’t.” The voice said simply, “You’ve never just wanted to lay down and die, John Doe. You’re a Helljumper. Feet First Into Hell is your motto, not rolling over like a whore to let life fuck you. You don’t roll over for anyone.”

Helljumper….

The headache came back full force, slamming into him like a hurricane with images of a vault, broken stasis pods, Husks- And then was gone, pushed aside but a forceful hand, and replace with a broken man laying on the ground across from him while he knelt. Through unimaginable wounds and pain, the man coughed and said, “It’s not just dirt, Rookie. That’s what Yevgenny taught you.”

Yevgenny…

The name had weight to it, grounded him, pulled his eyes awake in the inky blackness with an urgency he hadn’t felt before. Looking right and left he swung his fists, snarling at nothing but enjoying the feel of moving before hands landed on his arms, fighting to force him down, and the voice returned. 

“Feet First Into Hell, Rookie! Say the rest!”

“Make sure it’s crowded when you get there!” He roared back hard enough his eyes blurred over. When they opened again, he was standing in a grey-steel corridor with a dozen men and women in black armor, cheering and pumping fists into the air. The woman, in form fitting black armor unlike any other in the room and standing on a raised walkway, smiled and looked straight at him. “For Earth!”

“Earth…” That name snapped sense into him, and his eyes snapped open again, sitting in a pod and looming over the jewel of the UNSC.

“Not that one.” The voice said, replacing it with an image of grey, fires burning across expanses of it as it receded from vision. “Mine. Under siege by the Reapers. Reapers you’re going to help me fight, Rookie. Or are Helljumpers afraid of a little apocalypse?”

Grinning, he answered back my smacking the release on his pod, plummeting impossibly fast towards it as the blue marble closed with him once again.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

His eyes snapped open, a strangled cry parting his lips as his arms flailed again, Chakwas and the large Turian form of Primarch Victus shooting back towards him to grab at him again until Liara cut them off, her voice sounding tired, strained and distracted all at once as she did. “He’s fine, now, he just needs to get his bearings back and recover. Please, give him space while I bring Shepard out of it.” 

“Shepard…” He turned where he sat, hands idly yanking the little medical suction cups that had been attached to his bare chest off. 

She was bare as he was, save for a thin bra that preserved whatever sense of modesty she had, with the same suction cups attached all along her chest and arms like he was pulling off. Her eyes were closed, and like him she was in a clinical bed with a sheet up to her waist. Her eyes closed and chest rising and falling gently, she could have been sleeping were it not for the Asari, blue hands on her head above her eyes and over her heart on her chest. Blue biotic energy flowed from the one woman and into the other and sweat beading along both their skins.

“What happened?” He asked, turning to look at the doctor with the words. “The last thing I remember is Eden Prime, the… Little pod that we were recovering.”

“I am afraid I can’t tell you that. It’s classified, and I don’t know everything as a result.” She gave Victus a look and the Turian sighed a warbling sigh when she added, “Primarch, if you don’t mind going through it for him? I would ask Doctor T’Soni, but she’s quite busy at the moment with the Commander.”

“Your team encountered Cerberus agents and eliminated them, and then split up to investigate the two buildings suspected for critical data-storage. Designated A and B target, after you deal with C target.” The Turian slipped into military candor almost instantly, and the ODST couldn’t help but appreciate it in his state. Head throbbing, throat dry, and limbs sore like he’d marched for a day solid and gone into a firefight off it. “Commander Shepard obtained the package and data to open it and did so, calling you over as she worked on opening it. The package contained a live Prothean coming out of long-term stasis, and he touched you.”

“Protheans can share vast amounts of information with simple, physical contact. In his panic and disorientation, normal for long-term stasis storage, he touched you and Shepard grabbed his arm.” The Primarch nodded at the woman at that, “She possesses what is known as a Prothean Cipher. It allows her to process Prothean data like what you were given in that connection.” 

“Doctor T’Soni facilitated a Mind Meld between the three of you, using her own experience with Shepard, the Cipher and Prothean culture to compartmentalize the memories you were given and give you the Prothean Cipher to process what she couldn’t handle herself. The good doctor is piecing Shepard’s mind back together, like she did to yours. I..” He shuffled awkwardly, mandibles clicking unsurely before he continued in a quieter tone, “I don’t know enough about such a deep Mind Meld to know what that entails. Only that it is dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” He looked to Chakwas, brow raising, but the woman shrugged unsurely and began shutting off his monitoring equipment. “Hm…”

“This kind of deep Meld requires that I go into the person’s mind and disassemble it, so that I may see everything I need to. It is dangerous because I also have to reassemble a lifetime of memories once I am done.” Liara sounded tired, straightening on the stool she sat on and massaging her forehead gently. Giving him a small smile, she continued, “She is fine, however. We spoke for a moment before I receded, and she will awaken soon enough.”

“Then you were…” In his head, he didn’t say. She nodded though, perhaps able to understand him in a truly unique way now. A thought that did as much to terrify him as to comfort him, the thought of an alien mind in him to blame for the former. “I see.”

“There was no other way to bring you out of the coma. Had I not done so, you would have died there. You very nearly did when we reached out to you.” She said quietly, trying to reassure him as best she could and standing. Her legs wobbled under her and, like a predator lashing out after a meal, Victus moved and grabbed her to support her. “Thank you, Primarch. Such a Meld is… Taxing for the Asari doing it.”

“Dangerous?” He asked her, the Asari nodding and drawing a considerate hum from him. Instinct told him aliens didn’t help him still, even after everything, but his head knew better and so he added, “Thank you.”

“Doc Chaaaaak, turn off the lights.” Shepard moaned petulantly, rolling onto her side and pulling her sheet up to her head and blinking bleary green eyes at him. “Glad you’re back in your own skin, John. No more fondling ancient aliens and absorbing their entire life experiences. Okay? Love ya to death like everyone on my team, but I don’t fancy being disassembled again.”

“It was your idea, Jane.” The Asari sighed tiredly, standing on her own and moving towards the door. “I am getting a meal, and then going to bed. Do not disturb me for at least twenty-four hours unless the world is ending. Again.”

“And now that this is all resolved, I have aftermath cleanup to work on with Wrex.” The Primarch nodded his head to each of them in turn and then left, the door whooshing shut behind him. 

“Nope.” He paused halfway through standing up when Chakwas spoke, giving him a hard look. “You and the Commander are under observation for twenty-four hours. Get it in bed, and lay down. You both need your rest, and I am going to make damn sure you both get it in spades.”

Sighing, and knowing arguing would accomplish precisely nothing, he laid down on the bed. Thankfully, the woman pigmented the viewing window and dimmed the lights for them, allowing him to relax.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Shepard started, his head turning to look at her where she lay on her bed, “but… I saw your memories too. Same way you saw Javik’s, probably. The Prothean,” she added for explanation, sitting up on her pillow in her bed and letting her head rest against the window, “his name is Javik.”

“I know.” And he did, which was odd since he hadn’t met him. But he knew the name from memories that he couldn’t recall now, not really at least. 

It confused him, and so he didn’t think about it. 

“You’re staring.” Shepard pointed out, the Trooper realizing that in his distraction he had been. Grinning a cheshire grin, she asked, “Checking me out since I’m just in a bra? How naughty of you. Was this your plan to see me without some layers?”

“Shepard, don’t make me give you a sedative.” Chakwas threatened on his behalf when he couldn’t think of a response. Looking to him, she smiled politely, “If he tried anything in my infirmary, he’d become intimately familiar with it, after all. So I doubt he intended any of this as some nefarious plot to see those little things.”

“Oi!” She half-shouted, pushing her bust up with her hands and pouting. “The girls are perfectly sized, Chakwas! Take it back!” The doctor hummed and simply turned back to her terminal without a word, and Shepard looked to him, “John?”

“Hm.” He laid down and rolled over, ignoring her entirely, and heard her grunt of frustration.

“Fuck all y’all. I kill people good and the girls are perfect little Ds.” He heard her shuffle on her bed, likely waiting on a response, and then sigh when none came. “Y’all suck. I let Liara muck about in my head, but you won’t even compliment my tits? Rude!”

“They’re fine.” He finally grunted, more to throw her a bone than out of any interest in the subject. 

“Oh!” She gasped, clapping her hands a few times and crowing, “He talked ‘bout something that wasn’t guns, fighting, or answering direct questions! Chakwas, did you see? He talked! His first non-combat or forced words!”

“I’m sure you’re a proud mother.” Chakwas sighed, giving him a saintly, sympathetic look. “And I’m sure you know you just made a rather large mistake. Aren’t you?”

He just sighed, resigned to it by now, but not exactly bothered by it. She got him now, he knew. She knew everything about him, and didn’t treat him any different for it. And that was something he appreciated more than saving his life or anything else. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

So a quick self-advertisement, but I have officially begun work on Re:Programmed, which is an entirely original concept book series that I am writing with the assistance of several members of my little community. It will be a sci-fi story set at the turn of what I call the ‘unification stage’ of a civilization, where governments ally or blob together to unify the planet and start colonizing outward, and set in the aftermath of climate-based catastrophes spurring on much of that unification. The story itself will rarely if ever touch on that, though, it’s just the setting. 

We also have sex robots **throws confetti** ~ Voltegeist

Supporters and those community members I have already enlisted, or will enlist, in assisting with the project will get previews of what is being worked on and when regularly starting after Christmas. Which is when every weekend will be set aside by me exclusively for writing, storyboarding and the link on Re:Programmed.

I’ve spent the last couple years working towards being able to do this and can’t wait to share it with all of you.

AND NOW THE OTHER ANNOUNCEMENT

A second project for my stories is launching along with this, where a member of the channel is producing read-throughs of my stories. Right now, she has one of my oldest one-shots, You Are My Sunshine read and uploaded. We’ve already received some good input and responses and will be improving our formula further, but I would love if any of you could give it a watch, a Like, and any input you have to offer. 

Just search Flowey Reads or head over to the channel, or DM me directly, for links to it if you have any interest in it.

Also remember to comment whatever story you’d like to see done next!

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Lebenden Toten :

I am always welcome to new Supporters of any amount. As you see in the above announcement, they’ve brought some wonders to my life. As for old writing… I have some of mine too. Just practice is all. Also, I have a discord for people to offer insights. If you wanna, just hop over. Impiriex is a military bro too and does so as well.

SD Phantom :

I actually role-play Shepard vocally, speaking the lines in response to John as I’m talking. Which is part of why I think she is the best character in this thus far as far as characterization and the like goes.

7th Maniac : 

The thing is, I take ODSTs in his role as less ‘rip and tear’ fighters and more what I showed here. Knife, marksman shots before people react, booby-trapping bodies, sabotaging locations and the like. In a punch-out fight, to me, they don’t seem to excel as much in training and equipment.

Glad you enjoyed it though, and there will be punchy fights in the story at whole. Just not for this one.

SSJ1998 :

Yeah, I cheated a bit, practicing at gun-based combat with skirmishes first. Works, though, and I think I integrated that well into the story itself. As for a fight between them… Depends. In a drawn out gunfight in normal mid-range, Shepard. In a long range duel, Shepard probably again because of her heightened durability and how her skills orient towards aggressive, rushing tactics. But in, say, a drawn out battle between them based more around getting the upperhand? Rookie probably. Think Batman versus Superman here.

Rook 115 :

Eh, just bad luck, I guess.

And a dick of a god writing the events for him. XD

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	12. Chapter 12

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(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“I… Felt it good to speak to you, given what has occurred between us.” The green-skinned alien started quietly after a few awkward moments, sitting on a crate in his ‘quarters’ in Engineering. “I… Felt that, perhaps, I should come to you and show my contrition to you regarding the debacle and the effect on you before they can harm our business relations. Though I see no need to, I understand why what happened was a fault I bear, and so I… I apologise sincerely.”

“Hm.” Hunched shoulders, palms pressed together and elbows resting on his knees in a sort of meditative stance similar to what he’d seen in old movies when he was younger, and eyes that bored into the floor flatly and very boredly. Something he himself could only tell thanks to what had happened, he realized after a second of though and to some discomfort. Sighing, he turned back to his piecemeal Avenger on his makeshift work-table and asked, “Shepard?”

“I did not…” The alien sighed, an odd, warbling sound much like the Turian version but higher pitched and tinged by an odd trilling sound set under it. “Yes. She was quite insistent, I’m sorry to say, that I come and apologize to you after what transpired on the Human world.”

“Eden Prime.” He pointed out, picking up one of the myriad pieces of his rifle and wiping it down habitually. As much to keep his hands busy, and he knew himself well enough to spot the behavior. “You get used to the Commander.”

“She has her eccentricities, but even among my own species and time, such was common enough for a seasoned commander of military forces. Understandable and, so long as the Prothean leaders upheld Prothean ideals and attained successes against the Reapers, accepted and forgotten.” The Prothean seemed to relax slightly, if only slightly, his shoulders sloping the tiniest margin imaginable and his eyes moving from the floor to the ODST’s disassembled weapon curiously. Then his lips pursed in distaste and he said, “I still find it inefficient to hurl miniscule flecks of metal at your opponents, however. Reaper technology, and they are well-adapted to combating it. Aside from the inherent primitive influences, of course.”

“Does the job.” He pointed out, the Prothean humming appreciatively at the sentiment. “You use a particle rifle?”

“Projected particles emitted at a certain radioactive wave-length that causes a high heat reaction that can melt through most armor and cook organic components as well.” The alien explained mechanically to his question, like a soldier rattling off a simple report to someone. “If you wish it, I would loan you mine for use at a shooting range, or on an operation I am not deployed to.”

“A new weapon on a mission would be a liability.” Unfamiliarity with his main weapon would breed mistakes, and that could get someone killed or wounded. And simply carrying more weapons could slow him down and do the same. “I lack the training, so no. Thank you”

“What is the name of that kind of particle rifle?” Javik asked simply, holding up a hand in an almost pleading gesture - and he looked very unhappy about that too - before he could speak. “Simply try to remember, Doe. Trust me for the briefest of moments, I know what I am doing here. Focus on, as you will recall it, your training. Think of the particle rifle and a planet called Threlem. ”

“...” He sighed and thought, trying to remember what he didn’t know about places he’d never been and training he’d never received. An odd thought and an even odder thing to do, but he let it go and did as he was asked. “The… Four-fifty-six light particle rifle.”

“Indeed. It is as I thought then, I suppose.” Javik sounded pleased, even smiling thinly at the simple number designation. “The ‘Cipher’, as Shepard calls it, imparted to you is subliminal, in your subconscious rather than your conscious mind. The Asari woman must have done that to compartmentalize the memories there to prevent my memories and yours clashing, as a rudimentary and primitive measure to replicate my species natural ability to discern between them. So when you try to recall the information...”

“I can remember it.” Not very useful to him, unfortunately, but interesting to know regardless. Maybe if he were a scientist or historian it’d be more useful, but he had more important things to do than that. Speaking of… “Does that mean that you have access to my memories as well?”

“Up here, yes.” He tapped his large head and nodded, smiling apologetically. “I have, however, made no attempt as of yet to actually access them. Or Shepard’s, for that matter, out of courtesy. And I will not unless I am required to for some unknowable reason.”

“Understood.” He nodded, finally realizing he’d been cleaning the same piece of his rifle for the last fifteen minutes and awkwardly setting it down. “Do you need anything else?”

“Have a good evening, Doe.” The Prothean rose, bowing his head in a farewell gesture that the ODST questioned how he recognized for a split second. “I am told we will reach be deploying tomorrow on the Krogan world.”

“Mission objective?”

“You, myself and the Krogan Warlord will be deploying on a rapid strike on an orbital defense facility.” The Prothean said simply, half-turning to leave and then finishing, “Once that’s done, we will rendezvous with Shepard and head to a location important to the Krogan for a meeting of some kind. Their female, the one on board, will apparently be present at the meeting.”

“Understood.” They were gathering, then, and this time Wrex and Shepard would both be there alongside Eve. Beginning to reassemble his rifle, he knew what was coming. An end game for Tuchanka that would decide the course of the war itself. 

“Rook!” Garrus trilled, descending the stairs with two trays of food carried in his talons, one a steaming plate of potatoes and a steak and the other a dozen thumb-shaped pieces of meat and a tube. He froze, glancing at the Prothean and stammering for a second, “Uh, hi… I didn’t bring you dinner.”

“No, i should think you did not, Turian.” The Prothean turned once again, inclining his head respectfully, and said, “Enjoy your meal, Doe. I will see you when our feet once more share a battlefield, and look forward to what you can accomplish when not… Tragically catatonic.”

“You and Shepard are the only people he doesn’t call ‘Turian’ or ‘Human’...” Garrus said quietly once the green alien had gone, shaking his mandibled head and easing onto one of the crates Rookie used for ‘furniture’. “Anyway, figured you could, uh, use a bite or ten to eat. Need your strength, after what happened on Eden Prime, and… Shepard was nagging me about getting rec time.”

“Okay.” 

“So how, uh, how are you feeling?” He gave the Turian a look, lifting a spoonful of potatoes to his lips and waiting on him to expound, and the Turian’s mandibles clicked in anxiety. “No, uh… No headaches or anything?”

“Negative.”

“Ah.” The Turian glanced at his meal, then to the partly-disassembled rifle, and then back to Rookie. “Good. That’s, uh… That’s good. I, I mean we, we were all… Worried, about you, you know? So, uh, I figured I’d offer a hand… Spirits, I suck at this.”

“Affirmative.” The Turian sighed, and he took a bite of potatoes before offering the poor dog a bone, to avoid what would probably be an awkward silence for the Turian if nothing else. “Shepard sent you to check on me. Didn’t come herself so she wouldn’t seem to be smothering me.”

“Yeah…” He took a large bite of one of the bars, that looked oddly cake-like but was obviously made of meat, and sighed another tired and warbling sigh. “Like I said, everyone is worried about you after what happened, even if none of us quite understand what happened. Beyond Shepard carrying you in like a sack of potatoes, of course. And Shepard… Hovers over her people. Alot.”

“I understand.” He nodded, “I am recovering fine. Whatever procedures were done, they have succeeded. I feel fine.”

“Still gonna eat with you.” Garrus said simply, grinning a toothy and distinctly Turian grin at him. Shepard will, uh, drag me back down her by the mandibles if I don’t. And then she’ll be here to pester you, too.”

“Okay.” Shepard was going to be the death of him at this rate… But it was fine by him, Garrus wasn’t the worst person to be forced to spend time with. Neither was Javik, though that was probably an unfair comparison to make after what had happened between them.

But that was enough thinking about that, he had a steaming steak right in front of him.

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“You go left, kill the techs, the Troopers, whatever the hell else is in there, and do it fast ‘fore they try and trash the systems.” Wrex grunted and shifted as the shuttle shuddered around them, the sounds of wind buffeting its armored hull familiar to the ODST now. “Take the Prothean with you, and that’s a weird ass thing to say, set the bypassers, and the cannon’s power will be routed to your Omni-Tool.”

“And you?” He asked, Avenger held across his chest relaxedly as the shuttle ducked and weaved through the buffeting Tuchankan wind. The Krogan grinned, raising a spined brow, and he nodded understandingly, “Up the middle, into the thickest fighting.”

“You know me so well, Rookie.” The Krogan chortled, deep voice rumbling in his chest as always and vibrating into him. “Gonna be pissed if I don’t get to see you in a real fight, though. Every damn time looks like I’ll get it, you get shot, or whisked off on some damn adventure halfway across the galaxy.”

“I do not think that the Lance Corporal plans on getting shot, Krogan.” Javik said dismissively from the opposite seat from the Human soldier, eyes closed peacefully and particle weapon held across his chest in the same way that John held his. “Combat carries risks, and getting shot is one of them. You know this, I am sure.”

“Yeah, it’s called friendly bitching, Prothean. Friends do that sometimes, to pass the time and relax.” The Krogan shook his great head and sighed, leaning back against the hull of the shuttle beside the cockpit. “Friggin’ stick in the mud… Damn Turian would’ve been better than that, at the damn least.”

“By all mean, Krogan, you are welcome to turn the shuttle around and wait until the Commander can lead this mission.” Javik smiled cockily, almost a sneer but not quite reaching that, and Rookie frowned. “She, at least, would not waste our time on bitching, as you so eloquently put it, and would instead give us an actual mission brief. Rather than a half-explained plan and not much else.”

“Listen here you green bastard-”

“Wrex.” John grunted, the sound cutting off the Krogan’s diatribe and drawing his massive red orbs onto him. 

He simply shook his head and the Krogan growled, a dissatisfied rather than threatening sound even as it rumbled across the space. Javik snorted when he turned a look on him as well, but nodded so slightly he could barely see it regardless and aid nothing further.

“Fine, fine, but only because I like the way you shoot things.” He laughed then, the sound rumbling once more, and looked to Javik with a mildly more aggravated expression. Eyes narrowed and teeth ever so slightly bared to show their edges, the Krogan spoke, “The battery emplacement should be lightly garrisoned, I have a Warlord by the name of Gavulk leading some of his best warriors on a raid of the emplacements surrounding it. Couple dozen Krogan attack, they think they’re facing a Krogan land assault, and Krogan don’t have air transports normally. So they wouldn’t expect combined arms.”

“And if they did, they wouldn’t expect it of Clan Kralt either.” Wrex explained further, grinning at his own cunning and seeming to revel in getting to show it off yet again. A feat he got to enjoy a lot of with the war running, John was willing to bet. “Kralt are a mountain clan from nearby, they were raidin’ Cerberus even before they allied to Clan Urdnot and swore to me. They don’t have Tomkas, or any air power. They’re all Varren and Krogan shock charges, big hatchets and bigger shotguns.”

“And since Cerberus tends to gather information first and foremost whenever they wish to stay in one place for some time, you used that against them. You used the information they had on this ‘Kralt’ Clan to control how they would react to this operation.” Javik hummed, the sound vibrating in his throat almost electrically like something synthetic and musical he’d heard once long enough ago he couldn’t place it - assuming he had heard it and not Javik, but that kind of thinking only made him anxious so he pushed it aside - and then the alien smirked. “I suppose some of the primitives that surround me were bound to be at least moderately clever.”

“Ten minutes out from area of operation, lowering elevation to avoid detection so they don’t spot us.” The pilot, Cortez this time since Shepard was still preparing for the next stage of the operations and didn’t intend on a combat flight to get in on her end. “Cerberus has what looks like all their air power bombing the Krogan forces a couple miles out, right on plan. Unless they have more than your scouts said, at least.”

“Give ‘em some support when we drop?” Wrex asked, ignoring the concern entirely and probably doing so for good reason. “They can do without it, but might give me some credit with that Clan if I send some support to save their sorry hides.”

“Can do, Warlord.” Cortez answered quickly, a couple seconds passing before he spoke again, “I have the heavier weapons systems spooling up now, I’ll provide a bit of support for you for a bit, and then I’ll make strikes against their gunships while you conduct your operation. Save some Krogan lives, eh?”

“Just make sure they can tell you’re shootin’ at the Cerberus gunships, or a Tomkah might give you the kind of look you do not want anything Krogan giving you.” Cortez didn’t say anything, but he didn’t really need to. It was obvious that the man had heard the Warlord’s warnings, and the Krogan turned to them instead. “Droppin’ me in first, since I’m a Krogan Battlemaster they might buy that I’m the special attack here. You boys get to known in the backdoor, hit the soft targets. Get the fun jobs as always, eh, Rook?”

“Affirmative.” He nodded, smiling slightly at the wide, toothy grin that grew across the Krogan’s face. “After this we cure the Genophage?”

“Yep.” The Warlord nodded, face turning stony and serious so suddenly even John noticed and flinched. “This… Today decides whether my species continues existing and… I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t the most scared I’ve been since the first time someone seriously tried to kill me who I thought could pull it off.”

“I…” He sighed, taking a deep breath to steady himself, and then pushed his thoughts aside and answered curtly, “I understand.”

“Yeah, figured you would.” He gave the green-skinned alien with them a look and a small, almost imperceptible grin. “Figured both of ya would, actually. S’why I asked for you two on this little milk run, instead of letting Clan Kralt just overrun the place. I can kinda trust you, you know what it’s like to see your species at risk.”

“Indeed.” Javik said quietly, his first statement in some time and sounding solemn as he said it. Opening his bright eyes, he looked to the Krogan and added, “I swear to this, then. I won’t allow your species to be callously tossed aside, not in the face of the Reaper threat at the very least. Primitive as you are, you’re useful here, and I would not see it unjustly wasted.”

“Right.” The Krogan grumbled, confused at the Prothean’s mixed up way of promising his help. “What I was getting to was that the Salarians don’t want this cure happening, Shepard already told me all about their offers and sabotage suggestions. She and I both are worried that they might try something, since she told them to shag a Varren over it. SO keep an eye out, yeah?”

“Very well.” Javik answered, eyes closing again while John simply nodded without a comment. 

Salarians, from his studies on the various important species in his new home universe, tended to favor backhanded deals, sabotage, spies and assassination over anything else. ‘Knowledge is power’ taken to a very ONI kind of extreme he had dealt with just enough to hate it but understand it’s rare usefulness. Rare being a key, and almost unfairly positive, word for it for sure but still an honest one.

Not that he would allow that to cause problems here. Not with the Reapers threatening, but…

He didn’t care about that, he found after a second of thought. The realization made him blink, hands freezing for a split-second as they moved along his rifle to do the methodical and useless last checks he always did before they landed. Last minutes before heading into the fight spent checking an ammunition stock he already knew he’d checked, and making sure his weapon that he’d spent hours on the night before worked too, wasted efforts both. And for the shortest split second, he didn’t go through the motions, sheer surprise taking him nearly completely off guard. 

He wouldn’t let the Salarians kill the Krogan. It had nothing to do with the Reapers or the war at hand, he didn’t want Wrex to lose his people. The realization brought questions but, in the same moment, the lights flicked a warning red and not even a second passed before he heard the stray shots of rifles bouncing off the armored hull of the shuttle. 

Instead of dwelling on it, he simply nodded and said, “Okay.”

The shuttle dove evasively from something they couldn’t see, the soldiers inside bracing arms and legs for the few seconds it took to level out. Heavy, automatic guns fired ahead of it, strafing the target zone wherever Cortez thought it appropriate before the shuttle yanked back up and around, diving once more and turning along a long, easy arc while weak, low power rounds glanced off the hull uselessly. Meaningless fire that told every one of them that they were dealing with poorly trained or green Troopers, left behind while the fighters dealt with the Krogan.

Perfection, as far as they were concerned.

“Out you go, Battletoad! Got to move, they have an anti-air weapon on the right platform, command room ramp. Kill it.” The door opened a split second after Cortex said it, the shuttle jerking forward as it stopped for Wrex to leap out with a bellow of defiance and rage, crackling with blue Biotics as he leapt. “Pulling off and around, Green and Black get ready for hot drop.”

The next bellow Wrex let out was accompanied by a muted ‘thump’ of something weighty hitting something else weighty, and then the sounds were lost as the door resealed and the shuttle dipped down and under the superstructure, jerking back up a few seconds later and coming to another abrupt stop. The door slid open and, wordlessly, they dropped onto the concrete and were moving, the blue shuttle peeling away behind them and off towards the battlefield they’d used as bait. 

A long stride put the Prothean ahead of him, the alien staying to the left of the little hallway to give him a clear line on the distant door. The massive wall, a support struct’s connection to the emplacement for the anti-orbital gun they were here for, meant that the approach was clean and clear. No sightlines to where he could hear and - when the gun wasn’t firing and sending tremors across the area - feel Wrex fighting, Biotic and Krogan wrath both unleashed as he tore through the poor souls stuck fighting him. 

At the end, just before the door, there was a corner where the support structure ended that let out to the rest of the area. Javik hesitated for a minute, one of his secondary eyes alighting on him where he stood with his Avenger watching the other door. A brief second passed before he stepped around the corner for a moment and then back. Looking to the black-armored Human, the alien nodded curtly and John joined him, the two hanging back in the access area where no one could see him. 

At a gesture, John stood and moved forward, towards the door into the server and power management suite. As he stepped towards the door, he glance to his right, catching a glimpse of Wrex hurling a white-armored soldier into another and smashing both into the concrete hard enough to shatter the plated armor and send halos of blood around their heads. Then he was in the server, silent as a wraith and staring at the lightly armored backs of two engineers, kneeling where they were working on the power juncture. 

Neither noticed him and so, holding a hand up to ask Javik to wait, he waited for the cannon to fire again and opened fire. Six round bursts punched into unprepared, and thus unshielded, heads cleanly before the firing of the great cannon stopped. Waving Javik in, he pointed his rifle towards the back of the room and pressed his back against the wall, keeping both entries in his sights at the same time while Javik worked on planting the bypass modules. Little black rectangles that would, autonomously, seize control of the cannon and give it to them. 

“Finished.” Javik grunted, rising with his particle rifle in his hands and turning, “We should support the Krogan. I shall stay here and fire into their flanks, where possible. You head that way,” he gestured with his rifle at the back of the room, where Rookie could make out a ladder down, “and flank around them.”

“Okay.” He pushed off, striding towards the ladder and dropping down, lading in a crouch and hesitating to see if he heard anything. Moving along the wall once he felt he was safe, he peeked around the near corner, up towards where he could see Cerberus backs spread out along chest high barriers of ancient, rusted rebar. 

A second later, a lance of bright green energy lashed out and against the unshielded head of a Trooper, melting the metal and meat away into slag inside three seconds. Body spasming as it fell and soldiers turning to react, he took his chance and moved towards the massive hunk of fallen ceiling dominating the center of the area at the back of the ramp. Using it for the full cover he was, he slid around towards the back entrance of the command room and froze. 

A brief shimmer in the corner of his eye, impossible but clear as day. An Elite? Here? Panic shot through him and he spun, opening fire on the figure in a long and drawn out burst. Lithe and small, the figure ducked and weaved around his shots, and the ODST recognized her for a woman after a second to force himself to think. A round sparked across her chest as she closed on him, the cloak fading to reveal the tight leather and ceramic plating she wore, face covered in a mask as her off hand lashed out. 

Blue energy sparking along it was all he needed, eyes widening as her arm swung like a boxer, blue energy spiking out and into him hard enough to slam him into the concrete behind him. His arms splayed from the force and his legs buckled for the briefest second before he caught himself and pushed off, but the woman seized that chance and leapt, stabbing towards him with her sword. The blade met the steel of his gun, brought between them like a shield, and punched through in a shower of sparks from the inner workings shearing apart like particularly expensive and lethal butter. 

Blade stopped, her left leg snapped up and into his side harder than any Human could hit, shattering a rib through his armor and shields both. He ignored the stinging pain and wrenched the rifle to the side, only succeeding to tear the sword through it even more than her lunge had.

Like an energy sword, kinetic motion didn’t matter, so instead he dropped the ruined rifle and ducked under the blue fireball that she hurled towards him. Her other leg snapped up in a horse kick, slamming into his chest plate and throwing him back hard enough his head snapped back, but his arms wrapped around the limb and he pushed off to the side, falling and using his weight to drag her down. They hit the floor and he released her, rolling away as the blade swung down, shattering the ruined Avenger hanging on it both from force of impact and the blade cleaving through it. 

Kneeling, their faces met for the briefest of moments, as well as they could through mask and visor, and he yanked his knife free. The woman simply chuckled, an electric, warped quality to it, and lunged again, Biotic energy sparking along her legs as she did. Her sword didn’t stab in, anticipating his dodge, and so he didn’t dodge. Instead he took the full brunt of her Biotic charge to his chest, the surprised woman not knowing how to deal with it before he brought his knife down into her back, right between her shoulder blades. He felt the muscle around the knife, and the spine under that, separate as she stiffened.

He sank under her weight, on both knees and in the open as she went limp, sword clattering on the ground. He waited a second, in case it was a ruse, before yanking the knife free and pushing the paralyzed and dying woman off him. She thudded to the ground and he rose, hand drawing his Predator while he eyed the ruined rifle for a moment before stepping back into cover where he’d been to take stock and catch his breath. 

“Please…” He heard it, looking at the downed woman, her head lolling. “Hurts… Teacher…”

It hurt, and she was a teacher, and she was asking him for help. Were they… Conscious, even after what Cerberus had done to them? Blinking slowly, he sighed, and raised his Predator, a single round punching through her skull without a thought of hesitation. Crippled for life, Cerberus wouldn’t do a thing, and even if they brought her in her face would just explode. 

Fucking Cerberus…

Silence descended on the battlefield for a moment, and then he heard the familiar voice bellowing, “Rook! Where you at!”

He spared the now very dead woman a glance and stepped out of cover, moving up the ramp towards them and pushing the memory away. She’d been dead long before she came up against him, she’d just been forced to keep walking and killing after. A teacher forced to- Not his problem.

He just had to do his job.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)


	13. Chapter 13

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Official Supporters: 

Grand Priestess, Luna Haile -

High Priest, Alvelvnor

Priest, The Impossible Muffin

Priest, Xager the Chaos King 

Acolyte, DigiDemonLord

Acolyte, Stonecold

Initiate, Greg Gibson

Initiate, Gentleman Mad

Initiate, Lebenden_Toten

If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM one of us for details or join our discord. Server for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, and remember to post a Review/Comment to let me know what you liked and didn’t. 

So, Fanfiction will not let me link to discord. So, I apologize to every single FF reader for this, but please PM me for a join link. And please consider doing so, I enjoy chatting with you lot. On AO3, the link is viable : https://discord.gg/2UZncAm

If I could trick FF into thinking this is not a link here it is (delete the spaces and turn):  
D iscord . gg (slash) kfhkfUb

Betas for this story so far :

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Javik was unharmed when they regrouped in the control room, aside from a single small black pattern on his left leg. Black lines trailing along the joints of armor and undersuit, where a round had glanced past and left behind a trail from its intense heat and friction, but otherwise done nothing. John himself was mostly untouched as well, aside from scuffs along one shoulder and a spot of blood on his chest that didn’t belong to him, thanks to how he’d approached the battle. Hiding in cover and picking off enemies unaware of you didn’t tend to leave you in harm’s way as much, and a smart soldier used that whenever possible. Then there was Wrex...

Wrex was the consummate Krogan warrior coming off of a battle. His armor, once a dark red a few shades cooler than his crest and eyes, had now been tinted dark and even black in places. His entire left arm was covered in scorch marks and electrical burns, like he’d jammed his arm into a tesla coil. He even had a small smattering of small bullet marks. Little divots in the armor, muscle and hide that he didn’t seem to care about. A long furrow from left shoulder to his right hip had been carved across his chest armor, along with a smattering of pockmarked divots like on his arm, and another trench had been carved into his head behind his crest that even now both bled and stitched itself together while he watched on in silence. The rest of his body was covered in similar patterns of scorch, small divots and wounds that trickled blood even as they mended. None of which the Battlemaster seemed to care about, instead simply leaning against the front entryway and watching the cannon fire into the sky at its new Cerberus targets.

The Brutes had been bad, but he couldn’t imagine facing a line of charging Krogan warlords and their bodyguards and surviving with a fighting force worth anything. Not that facing charging Brutes was any better...

“Credit for your thoughts, John?” The Krogan warlord didn’t sound strained, or even really tired at all. Instead he sounded oddly satisfied, like a soldier with a full meal and a ship’s solid walls to shelter in and relax. Smiling toothily in that predatory, terrifying way that Krogan did, the warlord added, “Been staring for a minute. Think I’m pretty when I get all polished up in a fight, nice and properly Krogan?”

“You’re wounded.” He observed dryly, turning to watch the Prothean working on one of the computers. 

“I tore the information on this weapon’s usage and transmission capabilities from one of these Cerberus engineers’ minds.” He explained to the unanswered questions, gesturing to the fallen and helmetless Human at his feet. Blue face with dark veins spider-webbing across it and blood spilling from his nose and ears, but still undeniably once human at least. “Not a process a mind can survive, especially when I do not deign to be gentle.”

He could tell, looking at the curled up body and its pained face, but pushed the thoughts aside at memories of the teacher from before trying to surface. Not his problem to think about, he just had a job to do.

“Nothing but scratches and scrapes. A Krogan can deal with a hell of a lot more, and the way we like fightin’ means we usually do.” The Warlord looked him over from where he leaned against the ancient concrete and huffed, grinning slightly. “Where’d your rifle go, Rookie?”

“Shattered in half off of a… Sword wielded by a woman with a cloaking ability.” Which felt stupid to say, even with the knowledge that he’d faced similar from Elites in the past. His rational mind argued they were the same and so he dismissed the irrationality entirely. “What’s the situation?”

“Waiting on Clan Kralt’s Warlord, he’s riding in with Cortez to head to the meeting at the Hollows. A very old, very sacred place for all Krogan.” The Warlord paused for a second while the cannon fired, rounds thundering into the sky and - hopefully - into a Cerberus target in low orbit, all while causing the entire structure to tremble. “He volunteered to help us here in exchange for a lift there, once I told him about the cure. Lotta Warlords signed on when they found that out…”

“I wonder why.” Javik added dryly, ignoring the sour look Wrex shot him as he leaned back. “I have transferred the control for this cannon to the ships in orbit. This location will require protection, however, as I used the Cerberus soldier’s knowledge and a simple bypass system I was given to gain control.”

“Not very secure.” John added as an acknowledgement, looking to the Warlord and tilting his head slightly curiously. “Wrex?”

“Clan Kralt is sending a few Krogan to hold the fort down along with their Warlord, another dozen or so will arrive in a couple hours. Then the clan will.” He shrugged shoulders that were made of small mountains and chuckled low in the back of his throat, the sound like drums mixed with gravel more than any kind of laughter a Human would know. “The mountain clans, they never do anything halfway… I explained the importance of this place, and they decided the whole damn clan would hold it down or die trying.”

“An admirable approach, given the nature of the Reapers.” Javik complimented, particle rifle held comfortable across his chest. A rigid eyebrow, or what passed for on on a Prothean at least, rose imperiously and he added, “Given the apparent Krogan proclivity to attempt suicide by firefight seemingly until it works, I am shocked by the wisdom shown there.”

“Heh, as if these popguns were any risk to me. Just got a few scratches is all, most of ‘em are healed up.” The massive Warlord snorted, raising his ridged, spiny eyebrows at the ancient alien, and added in a taunting voice, “Were you worried about me?”

“Your death, amusing as it might be, would be inconvenient to fighting the Reapers.” Javik answered simply, looking past the Krogan and his significantly smaller comrade and jerking his chin towards the skyline. “I see the shuttle on its way now. We should prepare to depart for our next objective.”

“Yeah, guess you’re right.” The meaty hand of the Krogan slapped against Rookie’s shoulder as he turned, heading down the ramp towards the more open area between the two rooms that ran the gun. “Let’s get you a couple trophies from the fight, eh? You deserve some, and need a new gun either damn way.”

“Very well.” He couldn’t really just use his Predator the entire time, decent enough sidearm it might be. It wouldn’t be much use in an outright firefight, not against anything more than one or two standard Troopers. He couldn’t afford the risk to the mission of taking injuries due to ineffective equipment.

While the Krogan dispersed, some more technologically inclined or trained, headed to the power boards while their leader and his two companions assumed command of the cannon’s firing array. Javik transferred the software to one of their Omni-Tools, and John himself sat on a low and crumbled barrier, waiting while Wrex sorted through the pile of rifles laid just to the left of the ramp that lead into the command room. He was shoulder to shoulder with two other Krogan, taking the rifles and handing them away as Wrex sorted through the pile. 

Behind them, two more Krogan worked on disassembling the weapons. Sorting out ammunition blocks and internals of the weapons, probably to repurpose them later. The ‘net said the Krogan were clumsy, lumbering meatheads good for nothing but crushing and fighting. Yet while he watched, sharp eyes devouring every movement the Krogan made curiously, he saw fingers as skilled as any other. And eyes as sharp as any marksman as well, piecing out the functioning pieces and gently coaxing them from the weapons.

“Scavengin’ is a way of life on Tuchanka.” Wrex grunted, looking over an armored shoulder while he knelt and then resuming his work. “We don’t make much, lack the factories and infrastructure for it. Instead, we cobble together what we can. On and off Tuchanka, clans scavenge, and the mountain clans most of all.”

“Understandable.” A civilization on a world like this would have to be good at scavenging and scraping by, after all. This was apparently one of their most advanced remnants, and even it looked old and weathered to the point of near ruin. Old electronics long since replaced and sections collapsed. “What are you looking for?”

“Cerberus rifles have a little… Thing in ‘em that tends to fry ‘em when their users die. Works about a third of the time, so if you look you can usually find one that didn't go off.” The Krogan barked a harsh sound that John only realized a second later when the Krogan turned, holding out the collapsed dow form of a white rifle, was a laugh. “Cerberus rifle, in good shape too. I can run a program on my ‘Tool while we travel to the Hollows and make sure it doesn’t fry later.”

“It’ll do. Thank you.” He nodded, the Warlord in front of him standing and handing the rectangle to him. Grimacing, he pulled out his knife and set to work scratching off the insignia. Aside from the Cerberus sigil on the sides, which he was easily scraping off, the rifle was only a little heavier than his old Avenger. “Is that all?”

“Nope.” the Warlord gestured with his head to another Krogan, scavenging the bodies for whatever they’d missed while they waited on the shuttle, who held out a long shape wrapped in cloth. The Krogan scavenger shoved it into Rookie’s hand and the ODST let the weight hang for a minute before turning to look at the red Krogan questioningly. Angling his head toward the piled Cerberus bodies, with a lithe form of a woman laid on top, he explained, “Those bitches are called Phantoms, and you took one all on your own. A stab wound too, from what I saw on the body. Means you get her sword as a trophy, for a fight well fought.”

“I don’t need-”

“It’s a trophy, not a weapon for you to use. You can just leave it on the shuttle when we get back off, it’ll be fine there. S’an old, Krogan custom. And doing it is meant to honor you.” He cut the Human specialist off, turning and walking towards the parked shuttle. “ Just humor me, alright? And ‘sides, we got places to be. And Reapers to kill, hehe.”

Holding the wrapped sword in one hand as they walked, he considered arguing for a moment before giving in. It wasn’t worth the hassle, and Wrex could be as stubborn as a Marine holding a trench. There was no point trying when it would be so much easier to just leave it in his room and be done with entirely. Plus, they did have a second operation to get to. And not much time to waste bickering over the issue of taking battle trophies or not. 

And if he were honest, he wouldn’t want to risk offending Wrex. 

“S’a real damn Prothean. Heh, if you got that kinda shit, guess it makes sense that you have a Salarian curin’ the Genophage.” Another Krogan said, crest colored a light and pleasant blue color to match the Krogan’s eyes. “Maybe trustin’ you was the right idea, High Warlord.”

“As if you had a choice, heh heh.” The High Warlord chuckled darkly, turning to look down on John and waving a hand at the other Krogan. “Head of Clan Kralt, Warlord Gavulk, Rook. He’ll be ridin’ with us to the Hollows, like I told you a bit ago.”

“Sir.” He nodded his head curtly to the new Krogan, the warlord snorting in amusement. “Is that all, High Warlord?”

“Wait here with him while I check with Cortez about the shuttle, in case shit goes down or whatever. After that… Well, I won’t be your commander once we hit the Hollows. Shepard gets you back to herself.” Wrex grunted, almost sounding disappointed as he stepped around him and moved off towards the blue shuttle, parked on the brown stone in front of the command room for the cannon.

“Like I need a Human to protect me.,,” The other Warlord snorted, shaking his great, blue head and kneeling to join the others scavenging the weapons. “I don’t need you bodyguarding me, Human. So just sit there and look pretty.”

“Understood.” He could tell the Krogan was prodding him, and knew better than to fall into the trap. Instead, he watched the Warlord, looking over his person curiously. He was the only other Warlord he’d seen so far. 

Five deeper gashes like a massive claw swipe scarred the forehead plate, darker blue and tinged with orange in. His armor, unlike Wrex’s single-color and style set, was a mix and match of pieces. A heavy pauldron colored red on one shoulder, and a slimmer green one on the other, seemingly patched together from a dozen sets of armor and pitted with scars from claws, bullets and burns alike. A massive axe rested across his back, old and tinged along its edges the kind of way that blood left when it wasn’t cleaned properly, made of heavy metal and what looked like armor plating of all things. A bundle of hefty looking spikes set into a massive quiver hung off his right hip, a massive shotgun across the back of them above his stubby tail.

A crossbow maybe? He couldn’t tell, and didn’t have time to think over it before Wrex bellowed his name and told him they were leaving.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Thirty minutes later, the UNSC soldier holding his new rifle once Wrex had finished with it, Cortez’s voice sparked over the intercom, “Shepard sent a call through, stack up and prepare for a combat drop. Reaper forces are assaulting the Hollows and they overwhelmed external security. She’s with the Chieftains and their personal guards, trying to hold the central meeting ground.”

“Krogan there won’t be armed, and Shepard’s team were only allowed to have sidearms for her protection.” Wrex pointed out, scowling and drawing his heavy looking shotgun from his waist. “It’ll be fists, Biotics, and whatever anyone who got inside from the perimeter defense units had. Nothin’ else.”

“A good old fashioned brawl. Great way to start a Krogan meeting, ha!” Gavulk barked a laugh, loud enough his helmet’s audio receptors muted for a moment before opening again halfway through his sentence. “-Chieftain, we goin’ up the middle or sweepin’ around the sides?”

“We’ll have to see…” Wrex growled, turning to look at the seated Human in the corner of the shuttle and then glancing to Javik in the same moment. “You two up the middle, there’s a central platform in the Hollows used for presentation. Use it for a firing position and focus on relieving the Chieftains if you can spot ‘em. Gavulk and I’ll do the same and rally them to the center with you.”

“Understood.” He checked his weapon once more, making sure it was ready to fire. Anxious, he asked, “This weapon is ready to fire, correct?”

“Safeties on the back by the grip, I replaced the ammo block and everything else read as functional.” John checked, flicking it off when he found it, and then nodded gratefully at the Krogan. “S’automatic as well, a bit more kick to it than yours did judgin’ by the Mattock frame it uses. You know how to hook it into your HUD system on the fly?”

“Already done.” He nodded, the Warlord returning the gesture curtly and turned around to stand at the door beside the other Warlord. Behind them, Javik and the ODST formed up, shoulders almost touching and rifles held halfway up at the ready. Rounds sparked and thumped along the shuttle’s hull as it dove gently and angled up to bank into its landing. Green lights swapped to red a moment before the door opened, and the Krogan bellowed roars of challenge.

Driving forward, Gavulk turned as two Human Husks leapt for him, swinging his massive axe through the air and as much crushing them aside as cleaving them. Wrex spun in the same moment, backhanding a Husk away and blasting through five more with twin blasts of his heavy shotgun. Two Husks slipped by Gavulk on the left and leapt onto Wrex’s back, clawing at his armored back as much in hopes of wounding him as to make grips to stay on it. Both fell to short bursts of particle from Javik’s rifle, stepping past Wrex and putting his back to the entrance while Rookie moved past without bothering to fight the throngs of Husks.

Out here was nothing but low barriers alongside an ancient, cracked road, both with dead Krogan intermixed among fallen Husks of the lesser kinds. Cannibals and the lowly Human version, blue and orange blood splashed on the stone in places. Piles of both kinds of Husks were heaped around the entrance, along with a quartet of dead, black-armored Krogan who had died rather than give up the one entrance directly into the Hollows. 

A Cannibal stepped into sight, blocking off the door out into the Hollows’ meeting area, and he grit his teeth as rounds sparked off his shields. Slamming into the Husk he shoved it into the corner of the door, slamming an armored boot into its knee hard enough to break the bone and then pressing the barrel of his rifle into its chest and belting rounds into it until it finally went still. Looking back the way he’d come, he caught a glimpse of Javik pelting past him and out onto the platform that served as the meeting grounds with the two other Krogan close on his heels. 

Through the door and out onto the stairway he went, looking down on the platform where Krogan clustered back to back, fending off the Husks incoming by crushing them under feet and fists, tearing them to pieces, or using the Husks themselves to bludgeon other Husks into the ground. He spotted Shepard in the mix of four Krogan arrayed around her squad, who themselves circled Mordin Solus protectively, hacking with her glowing orange Omni-Blade and snapping off shots wherever she could manage it with her Predator. Helmet gone for whatever reason, a claw had scored across the side of her head and let blood flow down her face past frenzied green eyes. 

“Rally to the central platform!” Wrex bellowed commandingly, raising a fist into the air while Gavulk charged into the nearest melee. “The best shots get on it, shoot down on the Husks! Wounded too, if you can’t fight. Protect your Warlords and the Salarian doctor at any costs! For the Cure!”

However much of that had made it through the cacophony of shrieks, gunfire, wails and roars of Krogan defiance, the last part most certainly had and cries of ‘For the Cure!’ sounded all across the massive space. For a brief moment it was enough that every other sound faded away into the background, lost in the unanimous roar, before the sounds of battle returned in force. 

He saw Shepard turn, bark something at her team and the Krogan there, and then her group began to move in its circle. Husks leapt and were crushed, thrown or shot down and away, but he turned back to his own job before he saw whatever came next. He had to get to the platform and hold, and ran for it to that end, evading whenever Husks turned to him as he went through the sheer weight of Korgan numbers pressing into the Reaper infantry and his own instincts in navigating a field of desperate fighting. 

He spent a chaotic fifteen minutes that followed on that platform, using a low section of rubble as cover and firing at the swarming Husks thronging against the shoulder to shoulder Krogan on the ground, fighting with whatever they could get their hands on for weapons. Chucks of rebar, pipes, or just their fists with rifles firing down over them made short work of any Husk that came close. 

“Reinforcements are outside! Comin’ in!” He heard a Krogan bellow from below, helmet missing a chunk and sparking horribly. 

Turning fearful eyes on the door for a moment, he prepared to belt rounds into the door until he saw a dozen a mix of Krogan in red armor adorned with painted white skulls and slightly smaller Krogan in what looked like robes, both armed with heavy machine guns come charging through the doors. They formed a firing line at the door, one rank kneeling and the other standing, and simply unleashed automatic hell down into the swamp of Husk bodies. The few cannibals in their number turned to fire back at them, but long ropes of tracer rounds cut through them like scythes through wheat ripe for harvest.

Five more minutes later, the fighting ended in a Krogan roar of triumph. A scarred, old looking Krogan in green armor surprised him, clapping a hand on his shoulder and whooping in joy. 

“Report, Rookie.” He turned when he heard Shepard’s voice, Mordin trailing behind her unsurely until she sat down and he could set to tending to her wounded head. “How’d your operation go?”

“Installation secured, zero casualties sustained. Clan Kralt have assumed defensive duties per plan, Ma’am.” He held up his looted Cerberus rifle and explained, “My weapon was destroyed beyond use or recovery while engaging a Phantom. I looted this as replacement, Ma’am.”

“I’ll log the lost weapon and we can deal with your new one later, if you decide to keep it.” Which he might, its kick was heftier than his old Avenger to be sure but the rounds tore through anything on the other end of his sight. “Any wounds?”

“Negative.”

“Good.” She relaxed then, watching the Krogan warriors helping their wounded limp to a gathering area out of the corner of her eye while Mordin wrapped a bandage around her head. 

The cut wasn’t enough to waste Medi-Gel on, apparently. Some of the remaining Krogan carried bodies and piled them on one side of the platform while the bloodied Warlords, around two dozen, talked on the far end. Outside, he knew, Krogan armor and infantry were surrounding the building in numbers the Reapers couldn’t hope to overwhelm with infantry swarms under a size they wouldn’t know was coming far before it got anywhere near them. 

“I’m assigning you to Wrex one more time.” She finally said after a minute of silence, or as near to silence as they could hope for in the busy area, passed. “You’ll protect him and Mordin, and escort them to the Shroud when we embark. I’ll be heading a reactive strike team, to head off any major threats to the operational objective.”

“Understood.” Defense was a simple enough affair, if a hard one, usually.

“Reinforce the outer perimeter while we finish up here. It shouldn’t take long, so be ready and stay close to the Tomkahs.” She ordered when Mordin finished and moved towards the wounded, who shot him suspicious looks but didn’t fight him when he started treating their wounds. “We’ll talk later, John. Stay safe out there, consider that an order.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

SO58 :

I always treat Shepard as both a military officer and the mom of a group. On a battlefield, its short, clipped conversations and orders. On the ship, she’s friendly and cuddly like a normal-ish person.


	14. Chapter 14

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“This way, Human.” A Krogan guard grunted, waving him down a hall and wearing relatively lighter looking black armor and carrying an old and battered shotgun of some kind. A venerated and trusted warrior among all the clans, armed lightly and only because of the threat of Reapers, to guard the area around and under the Hollows. “The Battlemasters are waiting for you, for whatever damn reason. So hurry the hell up, we all have work to do and waitin’ on you makes my hide itch.”

“Acknowledged.” He’d been allowed to keep his new rifle, a Harrier he now knew for fact from several Krogan who’d called it as such. The rounds were large, the rifle was automatic and accurate at medium ranges, so the ODST simply assumed the name was a nickname spun off the best role for the weapon. 

Why he’d been allowed to keep it was the question, but not one he’d risk asking about to satisfy.

“Don’t get lost down here, I’d hate to have to track you down.” The guard huffed, waving his hand in the same again to direct him. “Urdnot Wrex needs you for somethin’, so.... Come and see me if you can’t navigate down here. Takes some gettin’ used to.”

“Thank you.” He grunted after a second, turning to head the way he’d been directed when the Krogan didn’t make a move to say anything else. As he walked, he took a moment to look around himself and take in the sights, mapping out turns as best he could in his head. “Like a maze…”

The Hollows were a sacred place, but they were unlike any he’d ever visited and hard to navigate. The top was an enclosed surface, with thick and heavy walls on every side and a reinforced roof structure to protect from attack with only gaps a foot wide - and thus too thin for a Krogan to fit through - for ventilation, all of them at the connection between roof and wall. It was undecorated as well, with little of any real apparent significance beyond massive statues at the corners and some ancient, weathered epitaphs. A bunker, almost, able to withstand bombardment and assault as well as anything could hope to without being completely sealed up and entrenched into the ground.

Under the Hollows’ meeting grounds was a honeycomb of maze-like tunnels and rooms, bare of anything aside from divots into the walls large enough for a Krogan to take cover in and more epitaphs. But the walls always curved, so the the divots would offer as little protection against defending fire as possible. And everything decorative or ceremonial was either part of the wall or anchored to it, so that nothing could be ripped away easily and made into a weapon. 

A Krogan ancestral site through and through, built with their nature in mind as much if not more than the culture plastered along the walls. 

The room was large by his standards, but felt as small as a bunk room aboard a UNSC cruiser had with the dozen massive, alien forms in it. Their massive figures were covered in armor, some with bandages wrapped around wounds from the fight previous, and they stood in a circle around a large console set into the ground, massive wires running to both of the far corners. On it he could see the glow of a holo-map, and what he guessed had to be the terrain of Tuchanka around the Hollows with all the ruins and broken structures. 

“Rook!” Wrex boomed when red eyes caught sight of him from the other side of the mass of armored bodies, raising a meaty hand to wave him over. “Come on in, we’ve been waitin’ on you. Did you have trouble with the passages?”

“Yes, but I found my way here.” He answered shortly, reflexively adjusting his grip on his rifle as eleven eyes ten times older than he could get landed on him before he moved towards his Battlemaster friend. 

The Krogan noticed but, either trusting Wrex’s pick of companions or knowing that a single Human with a rifle couldn’t deal with a dozen Krogan warlords, they didn’t react beyond derisive snorts. None moved for him as he walked around the table, and the one on Wrex’s left didn’t move until the High Warlord shoved him out of the way and waved a hand at the high table for the ODST to stand at. 

“Now, I know what all you scaly bastards are thinkin’.” Wrex grunted, face set into a glare as his eyes roved each Warlord in turn. “Why did I stall this meeting for a Human, of all things, when we’re here to cure the Genophage? Why is a Human at my side, in one of the most trusted positions, instead of a Warlord like you? Or even just a Krogan warrior, someone covered in scars from a century of fights?”

“We’re thinkin’ it, yeah… And a few other things too, now you mention it.” A Krogan across from Wrex sneered, green eyes looking the ODST over like he was an insect the alien had spotted. The ODST turned his head calmly to stare the man down, depolarizing his visor so the Krogan could meet his icy eyes, and the Warlord snorted. “Shepard would be one thing, but this… Scrawny Human, we don’t know him.”

“We already know the Salarians want this cure stopped.” Another pointed out, voice impossibly deeper than Wrex’s own rumbling out. “What if the Alliance has decided to side with them?”

“Shepard would tell me if they pulled that shit. And desert too. And Hackett knows that damn well enough, he needs her.” Wrex waved a hand to dismiss the idea, like he was wafting it away the way he might a bad smell. “Shepard’s got a full plate already, so she gave me him. Put him under my command and ‘sides, he’s harder than all of you combined. So if she hadn’t offered, I’d have asked for him.”

“Is that an insult?” The first Krogan snapped, growling and slamming a hand down hard enough that the holo-map fizzled for a moment before clearing up again. “We did not come here for insults, Urdnot. We came for a cure for the Genophage.”

“Wasn’t an insult. Just a point of fact.” The ODST sighed, but let Wrex explain before the Krogan could bellow responses. Clapping the smaller Human on a shoulder, the High Warlord went on, “This bastard right here ain’t your average Human soldier, needin’ a prissy shuttle for every fight. He’s somethin’ special, real secret Alliance shit, more ‘n anything else they got. I only get to tell you because I pushed for it when they pulled away for their little Prothean gig. An ODST.”

“Go on then, Rook.” The Krogan jostled him in a friendly way, grinning beside him. “Tell ‘em what you’re allowed to. We’ll keep our damn traps shut while you do, so don’t worry ‘bout that none.”

“...Understood.” The clever old Krogan was good with his words, and knew how to steer attention. ‘Tell them what you can’ meant that he could relay just the public information about the ODSTs, and simply assert Alliance classification on everything under UNSC classification. 

Wrex was indeed a clever, clever Krogan.

Twelve massive, curious sets of eyes landed on him and he spoke, “ODST stands for Orbital Drop Shock Troopers. A highly elite special forces unit which is trained to deploy via SOEIV, or Single Occupant Exoatmospheric Insertion Vehicle. One-soldier pods slightly larger than yourselves, deployed from orbiting ships for tactical insertion on the ground.”

“Lifepods, but smaller and you launch ‘em at the ground to drop off soldiers.” Wrex translated easily, the ODST nodding gratefully to him. “I’ve seen his pod with my own two eyes, too. Name me one Krogan in this room that drops from friggin’ orbit in a damn tin can to shoot shit, and he can stand next to me.”

Silence reigned, and Wrex grunted knowingly, “Fine then, shut up the lot of you and pay the ODST some damn respect.” Around the table, Krogan glanced to each other and then to him, offering small nods, occasionally pounding a fist on the table or their chests instead, and Wrex bumped his arm against the smaller Human’s. “Nod back, s’how it works. Sign of mutual respect and acknowledgement.”

He did, and the tension in the room vanished, the first krogan speaking again, “So, High Warlord. What’s the plan?”

The ODST relaxed as Wrex leaned forward, explaining the Turian air support and the multi-angled assault on the Shroud, which had apparently been occupied by a Reaper for some reason. Fifteen columns of Krogan armor would move along as many roads from every direction and, with Turian air support, bombard the Reaper Destroyer while the Krogan ground forces held a rear guard line behind the armor. All along the path, Krogan infantry squads would be dropped off to entrench and lure in enemy forces, both to thin their numbers in general and to take pressure off the rolling armored units. Trailing slightly behind the main Krogan assault force would be the troop-carriers, which would surround and protect a smaller, heavily armored vehicle carrying Shepard, Mordin and Eve, along with two Warlords and Shepard’s squad in case anything happened.

“What do you think, Rook?” Wrex asked suddenly once the plan had been explained, the ODST glancing between the Krogan and the map twice before Wrex rolled his red eyes, snorted amusedly, and said, “You’ve fought fights like this before. So what do you think of the plan?”

“I… It’s workable, Sir.” He finally said, leaning forward to tap two large mounds to the North and East of the Reaper. “I also think we could divert forces here and here. Entrench two small artillery divisions, which can add support to any fights along the way.”

“That would mean diverting Krogan out of the fight itself.” A back Warlord said, voice higher than the others and almost lilting in a way. “But my clan has a few Tomkahs fitted for shelling we could bring in on this.”

“Did you bring them?” The other Krogan simply nodded and Wrex clapped the ODST on the shoulder again, the body part starting to bruise from all the gestures of camaraderie. Not that John could complain, though, he’d only just earned the respect of these Warlords. “Good call, Rook. Anything else?”

“This structure around the Shroud… What is it?” 

“Old ruins of a city along the roads and further out. Close in, though… That’s the Temple of Kalros, Mother of Tuchanka and the largest Thresher Maw on the planet. Or in the species.” He tapped a finger on the map, right under the Shroud, and went on. “Couple of Hammers there, hit ‘em and you can summon her. Was a defense, few centuries back. The whole temple is fortified like that, to protect the Shroud way the hell back when our species was uplifted.”

“Will the Thresher Maw be a problem?” He asked, worried about having to face down something like that alongside fighting Reapers. 

“Nah, nah, she stays underground unless she’s summoned, usually. Hunts other ‘Maws.” The Warlord shrugged and Rookie nodded, pushing away the concern for now since he was at least fairly certain it wasn’t something to really worry over. A variable, but not one he should have to worry about facing. “What else ya got?”

“Have the Normandy devote its shuttles to bombing and fire support roles along the Western and Southern routes, to make up for the lack of artillery.” He leaned back and gave Wrex a small but clear shrug. “Other than that, the plan is solid as it is. Any other changes would require delaying days or hours to move in men and supplies.”

“Not an option. Someone might get cold feet, or someone might get support and bog us down more… No, no more waiting.” Wrex dismissed, leaning on the table once again and staring at the Shroud on the holo-map silently for a few long seconds. “Today, the Genophage dies.” Looking up, he glanced to each Krogan in turn and growled, “Today, the Krogan kill a Reaper, and we kill the Genophage. And look at that, nice and convenient for us, they’re in the same damn spot.”

“Who are we to look a working Tomkah down the barrel, eh?” He roared and, deafeningly, the other Krogan joined him in uproarious cheer and fervor. As they filed out, Wrex spoke to the ODST, “Sorry to put you on the spot back there, but… The Warlords had to respect ya or they’d never work with ya.”

“Understood, Sir.” He nodded, polarizing is visor as he did and rolling his shoulders. “We have work to do, Sir.”

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“First drop off!” Wrex bellowed as always, into ears and earpieces both, as the Tomkah that he, John and two Krogan Warlord bodyguards were riding in tilted, the massive vehicle skidding to a stop on the broken Tuchankan roads. “Krilat, Wreav, take the back flank. Rook and me get the front. Gunner, swivel wherever you seem black ‘n blue. For the Cure!”

“For Tuchanka!” All but the ODST crowed, though the small Human was the first to leap out the door as the ramp dropped. His feet hit the dirt as rounds sparked off his shields and the armor behind him, the Trooper ducking to the side and strafing towards the front with his rifle raised, spitting fire wherever enemy rounds seemed to come from until he saw his shields drop low and slammed into a concrete barrier, ancient and worn but more than usable for him to take cover behind. 

Husks charged, Human forms small and lithe ducking between the innumerable slabs of ruddy brown concrete and mounded sand for cover as they tried to close the distance. The Tomkah’s gun swiveled on a large cluster and fired, sending the pitiful things flying into the air in pieces and searching for another target. Short, three round bursts of his rifle barked out at the Husks as they charged, each taking the creature he sighted in the chest just below the throat and throwing its body back to lay still in the sand. 

Wrex followed behind him, standing in the open heedless of the incoming fire and hurling two balls of Biotic energy. One that lifted a Husk into the air, the creature scrabbling for leverage on the ground and its fellows as it floated, and then another that slammed into the floating Reaper with a dull whump, the Biotics detonating in a blue explosion of fire and kinetic fury that left havoc in the Reaper’s lines. Hundreds more Husks followed though, the two Krogan joining their rifle fire to his and Wrex’s own, one hand wielding an Avenger while the other hurled balls of blue power into the fight. 

“Rook!” He turned to his side at the warning and the movement he spotted, massive creature hurling a stone into the air. “Brute! Get back!”

It was too close, he knew, the Brute roaring as it raised its claw high and his mind raced. Tossing aside the Harrier, he leapt towards the Brute instead of away, landing between its massive bludgeoning claw and its body. Rising, he pulled his knife in one hand and a grenade from his belt in the other, stepped around the Brute and punching the knife into its softer side and slamming the Omni-Gel covered grenade onto the knife.

Then the Reaper turned, as though aware of his intent, and batted him the way the Reaper had come from. He sailed through the air, slamming into a concrete slab hard enough he heard stone and bone crack under the force and grunted. Landing and ignoring the burning in his side, he brought up arms to shield himself as the grenade went off, sending the massive claw flying off the creature and chunks of meat and metal into the air. Without a sound, the Brute’s corpse collapsed to the side, but he couldn’t dwell on the victory for long before the fist of the Husks leapt over the barricades at the Krogans, the Warlords wrestling with them and ripping, tearing or simply crushing them to kill them. 

But more came, heedless of their fellow’s bodies and their ally’s bullets tearing into their backs, and he forced himself up. Drawing his sidearm and taking a firing stance, he put three rounds into each of the three Husks crawling over Wrex’s back, and then another three into the one that leapt for him. With a roar, Wrex let off a Biotic detonation around himself and turned, kicking the Harrier into the air and touching a hand to it. 

Almost airily, the rifled drifted towards him and, snapping off shots into the Husks as he did, he moved towards it and plucked it from the air. Snapping a fresh clip into his rifle and discarding the old one, he stepped behind Wrex while the Krogan shot, bashed and biotically eviscerated the incoming Husks. Using the Warlord for cover, he put short, accurate bursts into the Husks swarming the other two Warlords, freeing them the same way he had Wrex and then using the mountainous Krogan like a pillar of cover, rifle bucking against his left shoulder as he leaned out to fire on the Husks.

Finally, the slower transport Tomkahs rolled up, disgorging three dozen Krogan and turning heavy cannons on the Reaper forces along with the Krogan’s own mix of fists, Biotics and rifle fire. The massive cannons on the Tomkahs fired beyond the Husks, aiming to where the fire was coming from and, finally, the first fight ended. 

“Here, Human.” He looked up at a red-armored Krogan, white skulls poorly painted on his shoulders and chest, and then the outstretched hand. A long knife rested there, half the length of his forearm with a serrated and a dark orange edge tinged with flecks of blue in a sheath open on the blade edge for a smooth draw and lined in blocky magnets to keep it secure He glanced to the warrior curiously and the Krogan spoke, “Warlord Krilat saw you lose yours, so here’s mine. S’old, but damn good.”

“Acknowledged... “ He took the weapon, reaching up to flick off his old, useless sheath and fix the new one there. Experimentally, he drew the knife, ignoring the pain in his side and testing the weight with a swing. “Usable.”

“Alpha Squad, you know the drill.” Wrex’s voice boomed before the red Krogan could answer, looking to him worriedly when he registered the large Krogan beside him for a moment and then nodding when the Krogan pounded a hand against its chest in salute. “Rook, saw that hit. Good?”

“Cracked rib, nothing serious beyond that.” He reloaded his rifle again as he spoke, drawing his sidearm to do the same. “Ready to proceed on your command, Warlord.”

“In the trucks, and someone slap some Medi on the Rook’s ribs. Don’t want our Brute-killer to get knocked out of the fight too soon, hah!” The Warlord bellowed with a mirthful chuckle that many Krogan matched, chuckling and pointing his rifle into the air, waving the Krogan toward the Tomkahs. “Now load up, Krogan. We got three more‘o these stops to make on the way to the Shroud and a long damn day.”

Cheers went up at that, the bravado of soldiers coming off a win, and the Krogan started to file off to board the Tomkahs or start entrenching with the Tomkah that would be staying to support them. A rear guard action, which meant a very very unpredictable job. 

He wished them well and returned to his seat, ready for the next fight.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Five hours passed of the fighting, water chugged in the Tomkahs as Krogans passed around canteens, thermal clips and ration bars while they trundled along, with the ten minute naps of a long armored assault that he could catch between skirmishes and slogging battles. The surviving three sat in the Tomkah, licking their wounds and resting before the next fight ahead of them.

The Warlord who’d had him given a new knife had died in the last fight, exhausted but too stubborn a warrior to yield his ground, torn in half by a Brute before Wrex slammed into it like a Biotic artillery shell as a result. The other Warlord, Wreav, was just as tired but dogged nonetheless, covered in bleeding cuts, bullet holes and burns, most of which seemed not to be healing. 

Even krogan regeneration had a limit, then, probably relating to calorie stores. A thought that had him holding out a tasteless ration bar for the Krogan who waved it off, grunting that, “He was fine, and a Human would need more energy to keep up.”

“Wreav already ate, John.” Wrex grunted, sitting between them in the Tomkah and looking as bad as his brother - a revelation that had only come off of the previous Warlord’s death - with slowly bleeding wounds scored across his arms and ragged claw marks ripped along his back. “S’your ration, you eat it. You need your strength just as much as we do for the last push, heh heh…”

Helmet sitting in his lap, he simply nodded and took another bite of the tasteless faux-oatmeal bar, forcing it down regardless and accepting the canteen Wreav leaned over to offer, grunting, “Impressive fighting, for a Human. Day long nearin’, hordes of the bastards, heavy fire… Seen you take some hits, too.”

“I’m used to it.” He said shortly, for once more due to his dry and sore throat than his dislike of wasteful talking. These were the kinds of fights he was made for, trained for… The kinds he’d fought in for years. “I’m just disappointed we lost the other Warlord.”

“Died like a Krogan ought to.” Wreav grunted, nodding along with his brother. Raising his voice so the equally exhausted Tomkah crew around them could hear, the Krogan roared. “On his feet, roaring, and ripping into his enemies like a mad Varren! For his clan! For Tuchanka! For the Cure!”

Again the cries went up and this time, in spite of himself and before he realized he was even doing it, he raised a fist silently along with them in mute support. Why, he didn’t know, and simply pinned it on exhaustion and the adrenaline high from the constant fighting. 

They continued on in silence for several more minutes after that, the ODST drinking his fill and then replacing his helmet on his head and rolling his sore shoulder. He wasn’t in any better shape than the Krogans, he knew, his armor covered in dents, pits from glancing rounds when his shields dropped, and a cut scoured along the inside of his thigh, sealed up by Medi-Gel and wrapped in an off-white bandage. And his cracked rib, that smarted as the Medi-Gel’s anesthetic effect began wearing off, the ODST resigning himself to it now.

Wounded, lower on ammunition than he’d have liked, and armor covered in gouges, bullet pockmarks and small scratches… 

The sensation was an odd sort of cross between satisfaction, comfort of a sort and resignation, something he couldn’t place. As the Tomkah slowed and Wrex rolled his shoulders to stretch before the next fight, he pushed the thoughts away and prepared to get to work once again. 

“What’s wrong? We shouldn’t be at the assault site yet.” Wrex called out, standing and shouting up the angled steps at the Krogan pilots. 

“Roads blocked, High Warlord. Looks like some of the ruins collapsed onto it, just a cliff on one side and an old, underground temple on the other. No way through.” One called back, the Tomkah backing up and turning as he spoke. “We’re assuming a defensive stance while the infantry and support vehicles move up. We’ll need Krogan out there to move the debris.”

Snarling, Wrex punched the release for the door and leaned out, glaring ahead of the Tomkah and then swearing, “Shit… I’ll get on the horn with Shepard, let her know what’s going on. Rook, you’re not strong enough to move the debris, so I want you on lookout.”

“Acknowledged.” The Krogan leaned back to let him through, the ODST scanning the area outside in search of a good vantage. 

Far ahead of them, he saw their objective. The Shroud, looming high in the air and pumping particulates into the atmosphere, surrounded by a temple of sorts and with a Reaper stood in front of it. Almost looking at them, which might have been the case really. It was likely it wouldn’t fire, though, at this range. It would almost certainly miss and do nothing, assuming its weapons had that range in a planet’s gravity. 

The best vantage point he could find was a stack of rocks on the edge of the cliff that looked safe enough to climb, the transdimensional trooper collapsing his rifle to climb it. Kneeling at the top, he set to scanning the horizon towards the Shroud and around them, the Tomkahs pulling in behind them soon enough.

“John!” He turned, looking down ten minutes after he’d climbed atop the rocks, to see Shepard standing there with her hands on her hips. “Get down here, need to talk to you. Wrex cleared it, the Tomkahs have guns out now so it’s fine.”

“What is it, ma’am?” He asked finally, when he was on the ground again, leaning against he rocks with his rifle across his chest. 

“Checking in. You good? I see the bandage, by the way, so don’t tell me you’re ‘fine’ and wave it off.” He sighed, but she crossed her arms, clearly ready to wait him out if he tried that approach, and so he nodded. 

“Small crack in a rib, cuts on my inner leg, and various bruising. All treated, none hindrances to combat effectiveness.” To prove his point, he shifted all his weight onto the wounded leg and shrugged. “I’m combat capable, ma’am.”

“More than, from the shit I’m hearin’ about you out there…” She shook her head and turned, waving for him to follow her as she spoke. “Did you seriously stab a knife into a Brute to stick a grenade to?”

“Affirmative.”

“That’s fucking insane…” She shook her head but seemed impressed at the same time, the tone of her voice carrying it. More serious as they moved past the Tomkahs towards where Wrex was standing, speaking to several Krogan, she went on. “You’ve done good work, John. Wrex told me all about it, he’s… Got a lot of respect for you.”

“Acknowledged.” He could tell, really, and the Krogan they passed now paid him a few nods of their own. Less than Shepard by a country mile, he knew, but still more than he’d started out getting. “What’s the mission’s status?”

“Not green, Lance Corporal.” She sighed, shaking her head, “Not green by a damn sight… But we’ll get it done, same as always.”

“Affirmative.”

Pushing past his Krogan, Wrex thundered towards them, face a storm of rage that gave even Shepard pause. Before either could speak, he did, spitting the words, “The Turians aren’t coming. Their entire god damn wing is grounded.”

“What?” Shepard demanded, arms slowly dropping to her side in shock. “They’re grounded? How?”

“Sabotage.” Wrex snarled, shaking his great head and spitting. “And we both know who’d use sabotage to stop this cure going through.”

The Salarians were known as agents, spies and saboteurs, able to sometimes ground fleets for months if they needed to. They employed knowledge, deception, assassination, and sabotage to achieve their objectives in whatever interests they pursued. And they were the only people who had aligned against the cure for the Genophage, even proposing sabotage to Shepard already. 

No air support meant that they couldn’t kill the Reaper, and that meant no cure…

“We’ll withdraw.” Shepard finally said, the words sounding choked as she said them, looking up at Wrex. “I’m sorry, but… We’ll pull back, regroup, coordinate another strike on the Shroud. Maybe the Alliance fleets can spare… Something.”

“The Shroud is poisoning my planet, Shepard. It’ll take weeks to form up for another assault, if we get the support for it at all. Which I don’t think is a gaurantee.” Wrex growled, sounding for the first time since he’d known the Warlord genuinely frightened. “We withdraw… The planet dies, and my species with it.”

“Wrex, we don’t have the men for an assault like that-”

“Permission to speak freely, Commander.” He interrupted, the Spectre rounding on him in surprise. Hesitating only a moment, eyes like frozen jade behind her visor while she considered him, she finally nodded and he spoke. “Kalros… We summon her, the Reaper will target her and she’ll kill it.”

“That’s past the Reapers.” Wrex pointed out, eyes narrowing on him matched by dozens of other Krogan gazes. “You’d have to push past ‘em to get to it, and without the air support… Our Tomkahs don’t have the staying power. They won’t survive long enough to bring it down, and if we don’t kill it the Reaper will just cut us to pieces.”

“No assault.” He said simply, shaking his head and adjusting his grip on his Harrier anxiously. “An infiltration.” He turned to Shepard, giving the woman a level stare as his helmet depolarized. “My pod can’t survive exoatmospheric reentry, but… Low altitude, in-atmposhere, I could drop right into the temple and summon Kalros.”

“That’s suicide.” Wrex was quick to point out, stepping close and glancing between him and the Commander. “We can’t… You’ll have no support in there. The Reapers will come, with or without the Destroyer.”

“Feet first into Hell.” He said simply, rolling his shoulders and setting his jaw. Holding up an open hand for the Krogan, he said, “My job is just to drop in there. Your job is to make sure it’s crowded when I get there, Wrex.”

“Rookie…” Shepard’s voice was low, mixed with emotion as he turned and looked at her. Her eyes were hard though and, after a moment, she sighed and spoke to Wrex instead. “Normandy can pick us up here inside a couple minutes, Wrex. Make the call, I’ll follow it no matter what it is.”

“Hm…” Several seconds passed before Wrex spoke, raising his voice to speak to the Krogan assembled there around him. “What say you, Krogan? The Turians have shown themselves steadfast, and the Humans too. Right now, around this world, Human, Turian and Krogan all fight and die together, soaking Tuchankan soil. They die for us, for our world. Thousands of them, fighting and dying here while their own worlds die to Reaper fire.”

“But the Salarians stab us in the back… Cowards, willing to throw these sacrifices away like Varren shit… Just as we closed on a cure for the Genophage, the salvation of our species, the Salarians betray us. Betray those Turians, those Humans… And turn our mission into suicide.” Pushing past the ODST and walking through his men, the Krogan parting as he did and leaving a wake between the Warlord and the two Humans, the Krogan let the murmurs carry through the crowd. Turning, he pointed through the Krogan at the Humans standing awed into silence and roared, “And still these two fight! For us! One risks her ship and her crew, the other drops straight into his death.” 

“For us!” He roared, slamming his fists into his chest and letting the sound echo. “The ODST will make his drop, that much is just a fact. Has to happen, simple as that. But I say this… I say that when he does, we join him out there!” He let the words echo for a moment, to sink in, before he went on, “We charge into the Reaper’s lines, bring them every. Last. Pound of Krogan we have here. Every bullet, hell, every fist when it gets to that! We make a legend with him, of the hundred Krogan who charged into hell, and the Human who dove into its very depths for their species to continue!”

“I say that if John Doe’s blood is going to feed Tuchanka…. If his blood is to soak this soil, then it will not be alone!” Wrex took a breath and nodded to him deeply, a sign of respect from the highest Warlord in the species. Raising his head, he promised, “My blood will spill with him, and for him if he needs it. Enough alien blood has soaked our soil, earned us this. So let’s soak the soil with some Reaper blood! For Tuchanka!”

“For Tuchanka!” Sixty voices cried, raising fists into the air and roaring their defiance. 

“For the small ones!” Wrex roared as follow up, the other Krogan somehow bellowing even more powerfully at that than the cries of ‘Tuchanka’.

“You’re not allowed to die out there.” Shepard said quietly as the Krogan shuffled off, preparing weapons, armor and Tomkahs for the battle to come. Giving him a hard look through her visor, she added, “I’m ordering you to make it back in one piece, Rookie. Understood?”

“Acknowledged.” He said as Wrex moved through the bustling Krogan towards them, looking down on him until he asked, “What is it?”

Reaching out, he laid a hand on his shoulder and said simply, “Thank you, John. Whatever comes, know that from this moment forward you are as Krogan to me. And you have a homeworld here, on Tuchankan soil, if you ever need it. I’ll make sure this legend survives for centuries if I have to write the damn thing myself. John isn’t a very Krogan name but, eh, I’m sure after today it will be.”

“I…” He didn’t know what to say to that, he’d just wanted to save the Krogan with so much riding on it, but… He hadn’t expected any of this to be a result of that. Nodding, he simply said, “Acknowledged.”

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“You’re out of your mind…” Primarch Victus said when they returned to the Normandy inside an hour later, standing in the shuttle bay while Vega and Liara used biotics and brute strength to move the old and damaged pod out into the very center of the bay. “Corporal, I don’t know what mad Spirits have possessed you, but that is not going to survive landing.”

“It won’t need to.” He said simply, watching the blue Biotics fade as the damaged pod was dropped on the cargo bay floor. “I just need to survive landing.”

“That… Is going to be a hell of an ask on a three hour time limit, even with everyone on hand to get it done.” The Primarch sighed, shaking his scaly head and giving the still-armored ODST a look. “You sure about this? I can have a Turian strike team here in a few days, hell, I’ll move a fleet in if I have to.”

“You do that, you’ll lose colonies.” Shepard pointed out sharply, carrying a crate as large as she was past the Turian Primarch and setting it down in front of the damaged drop pod. “He won’t back down from this if that’s the price. Will you, Rook?”

“Negative.”

“It’s a death sentence!” The Turian barked shortly, sounding more resigned than angry somehow and once again shaking his scaly head. Mandibles clicking his agitation, he asked, “Why is that even on this ship?”

“RnD wanted it, whenever we got the time for it.” Shepard dismissed easily while the crates it had been behind were moved back against the wall where the pod had been tucked safely away. “Now, turns out, we need the damn thing. So I guess RnD won’t be getting their hands on it after all, and I bet that just grinds their gears something fierce. Once Hackett hears about this… Oh boy.”

“It’s salvageable.” For one last drop at least, judging from its state it wouldn’t be more than scrap metal after. The bottom and sides were scorched from his reentry at Earth, and the armor had been scarred all to hell in the landing as well. “I’ll need a thermal barrier of some kind. The heat protection on the pod itself is gone, and even short tac-drops are too hot for the pod to stay solid without it.”

“Kinetic and thermal barriers should do the trick, at least for a little bit.” Cortez suggested, once the crates had been arranged to his liking and he could join the conversation, circling with the Primarch and the other two Humans at the base of the pod. “I can get those installed, strap a power system in on the top to make the drop… Should be fine.”

“I brought the armor plating.” Shepard grunted, waving a hand at the rugged orange-brown crate she’d hauled over. “Tuchankan made for atmospheric reentry and battlearmor on the Tomkahs, out in the badlands. On ships it can take a small asteroid, and on Tomkahs it’s meant to stand down Thresher Maws.”

“The door?” He asked, looking to the Commander. 

“Strap some of the plates across, banded around it, and line the sides in directional charges to blow it off. We wrap the bottom of the pod in the armor, cut holes for the directional thrusters, then wrap it up pod until we run out. Best we got, unless anyone has problems with the idea?” It was a reasonable suggestion, and the only thing they could really bank on with so little time, so no one voiced a protest. Nodding she grunted, “Alright then, order time…”

“Primarch Victus, Liara, get the armor rigging underway. Cortez, you’re on the thermal and kinetic barriers, get ‘em installed and overclocked. I don’t want any failures on that end, strip one out of a damn Kodiak if you need to.” Turning, she looked at Liara and went on, “Coordinate with Wrex and Garrus, Liara. I want you and that crazy Turian to head down there with Vega and be ready to assist in the secondary assault as soon as Rook’s pod launches.”

“And me?” He asked as the others filed off to do their jobs, the woman looking at the ODST sourly. 

“Garrus and several technicians are going to get your armor repaired and upgrade your shield with a Spectre variant like the one I use.” She said simply, the man nodding understandingly. “You are going to the Med-Bay to get your leg and rib properly treated, and then getting a solid meal and a nap while we work. I’m going to upgrade your rifle with a high-caliber barrel and recoil dampener like your Avenger had.”

“I don’t need-”

“I don’t give a damn what you say you need.” She snapped suddenly and quietly, the other soldier flinching. Hard, green eyes landed on him and Shepard took a breath, as though forcing herself to relax. “This is a suicide drop, you know that. And I know that, in your world, these kinds of drops are simple math for you. But not here, and not for me.”

“Commander-”

“Shush. Interrupting is rude, John.” She waved a hand at him, wagging a finger as though she were chastising him like a mother would a child. “”I want to know why you’re so damn adamant about doing this. You have to know this is probably going to kill you…”

“I couldn’t save my home world.” He said simply, waving a hand weakly at the side of the ship he knew to be facing Tuchanka. “I just…” Words failed him and he sighed, shrugging instead and simplifying it. “I won’t let Wrex lose his. Not if I can help it.”

The woman looked at him for a long time, her eyes searching his for… Something before she finally nodded in a tired, resigned sort of way, “Alright. I get it. If I was you, in the same position and with the same background… I’d do the same damn thing.”

Grabbing his arm, she pulled him into a sudden hug, arms squeezing him tight enough that his armor creaked in protest, she added, “I’m proud of you, Rook. I hope you know that. Another Jack or Grunt, and you better come back so we can meet them.” Pulling away she turned, waving a hand over her shoulder, “Get to the Med-Bay, we’ve all got a hell of a lot of work to do.”

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“We’ll seal you in once you’re settled in.” Cortez explained as he climbed over the ribbed armor wrapped like a cinnamon roll around the bottom of his pod, dropping into the seat and accepting the Harrier as it was handed down to him, along with a small wireless detonator that fit snugly into his palm. “That will set of the charges that line it, which will blow most of the ribs of armor out around the pod.”

“Acknowledged.” He set it aside where he could easily reach it with a nod. The expulsion of the ribbed armor would make a good entry maneuver on the ground, the shrapnel would more than clear out anything around him. 

“The Commander is headed down to the ground to join the fight.” Cortez went on, smiling reassuringly at him from on top of the pod. “I’ll be riding down in my Kodiak too, once you drop and we repressurize the ‘Bay. We’ll, uh… We’ll cover you as best we can, just hit those buttons and hold out. Alright?”

“I will.” Or he’d try, at least. “I requisitioned grenades?”

“Yep.” He turned, reaching down somewhere he couldn’t see from inside the pod, and then handed down the bandolier of grenades. He wrapped the belt around his waist just below his breastplate. “Three of ‘em, four second timers. Be careful when you’re usin’ ‘em, though, the Reapers will try and get close.”

“Affirmative.” He already knew that, but he assumed the man was just anxious. He could practically feel it in the air around him throughout the last few hours. “Tuchankan time?”

“You’ll be falling with the setting sun on your back, like you asked.” That’d probably be of some help at least. Especially combined with the Krogan assault. “Last check. You got everything you need?”

“Affirmative.” The other man simply nodded and slid out of view, leaving the Rookie alone in his pod. The next ten minutes were spent waiting while the last pieces of armor were riveted to his pod, the sound loud enough to trigger his helmet’s audio-dampeners. Taking a breath, he murmured, “Feet first into Hell…”

It was certainly going to be crowded when he got there if he had anything to do with it.

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SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT :

For Supporters, in the next coming weeks, I will be releasing the Prologue for my first original content book, Re:Programmed. I’ve spent the last year working on it, and can’t wait to hear what people have to say on it. And I wanted to release some evidence of that, to show everyone what we’re doing over here.

It will be Supporter exclusive, though, because without them it wouldn’t exist. 

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Scarease :

Will bear it in mind.

SO58 :

Yeah, I was building up to this moment the whole time. I figured the two could relate, and thus bond until John refused to let the Krogan lose this. And thus comes the SOIEV back into the frame~

SD Phantom :

I’ve been anticipating this chapter for weeks, honestly. The payoff to Wrex and Rookie’s bond, the camaraderie… I just hope the speech was suitably badass.

Predator 1701 :

Good news, friend~! Have a new chapter.


	15. Chapter 15

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“Atmospheric seal check?” Ten minutes out, Cortez was still running spot checks on the rig they’d set up, standing up in cargo-observation. He could see the man through one of his glass panels, flicking across a data-pad screen anxiously.

“Green.” As green as possible, at least, given the state of the pod. They weren’t designed for multi-drop, after all.

“Kinetic barrier generator?” He glanced above his head, where the small thing had been literally welded in. A mess of blackened metal and grey steel that clashed with the black interior of his pod, but one that seemed to be functioning. 

“Green.” It was humming quietly at least, and he hoped to hell that meant it was functioning. Curious, he checked it with his Omni-Tool to verify everything was fine. Beside it, the secondary thermal generator was also humming, and he added before Cortez could ask, “Scanning thermal barrier generator… Green.”

“Ammunition check?”

“Green.” He’d made damn sure of that before they sealed him in. Getting out would be an option, after all. “All systems green, ready for drop, Lieutenant Cortez.”

“Got it, patching the Commander’s comm unit in now.” He nodded even though the pilot couldn’t see it and drummed his fingers on his armored legs anxiously while he worked on that. No matter how many times he did it, the drop always terrified him… “Got it, handing you off now, Rookie. And, uh, good luck out there. Try not to, you know, get killed on us?”

“Affirmative.”

“Rook, Shepard here. I’m showing mild signal interference on my end. How’s my connection?” Her voice was layered by static and the sound of muted wind, which told him she was using a Krogan communicator in a building somewhere. Her helmet would mute the external audio completely, after all. 

“Clear enough.”

“Good. We’re short on time before the operation begins, so I’ll make this quick.” Her words were clipped and icy, strained in a way, and he understood why. This drop’s success or failure probably determined the fate of the galaxy, and she couldn’t do anything to improve the odds of success. “Krogan infantry are massing with armor support at my location and the other fortified points we established. Five minutes prior to your actual drop, they’ll charge, shell the area, do whatever else they can, all to distract the Reaper. Draw its infantry out.”

Which would mean less targets in his area when he landed. Useful. “Acknowledged. Air support?”

“The Normandy will be conducting long range fire support missions, and while the Turians have no bombers or gun ships after the sabotage, they’re dedicating interceptor craft to strafing runs.” Basically useless, he was sure, beyond the very basic ideas of strafing runs. But a show of support either way, and radar signatures in the air to obfuscate his own signature, so it had its uses. “Turian special forces is also working on infiltrating towards the temple itself right now, as best they can, to support your exfiltration.”

“Which direction?” 

“South.” She said quickly, “Wrex and I will be spearheading an assault towards the temple and Shroud respectively, to assist the Turians supporting you and disperse the Cure at the same time. Before the Reapers can stop it. Or the damn Salarians…” Not that anyone believed that they wouldn’t try, he was sure. “You hit the switches, and you run South. You’ll be surrounded by enemies, though, so be careful.”

“I will, Ma’am.” An alert pinged on his HUD and he sighed, taking a deep and steadying breath. The drumming of his fingers on his legs stopped, traded for a methodical drawing of his Harrier, and the same rechecks he always did before a drop. Habitual anxiety, the kind that could never really be trained out, and that his rational mind knew was meaningless. “It’s time, Commander. Do you have anything else to relay to me before operation start?”

“Just that you aren’t allowed to die.” She said shortly, her voice surprisingly gentle. “I won’t see you until after the Genophage is cured. I’ll be nearby, though, so if you get in too deep, then I can move to assist. Stay safe out there, John.”

“I will. And…” He sighed and shook his head, ending the call without finishing his thought. She’d be just fine, he knew that for a fact, and she didn’t need his well wishes to get through the mission. Swapping to the link to Joker and Cortez both, he asked, “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be, you… God damn crazy person. Whoever thought jumping out of working ships was a good idea needs to get help...” The man sighed, either tired or stressed the ODST couldn’t tell and didn’t care, and then moved on in a somewhat more official manner. “Two minutes out, Sir. The Reaper has noticed us, but doesn’t seem to care enough to move from the Shroud itself. Angling for a drop approach now. Lieutenant Cortez, equalize inner-outer atmospheric pressure.”

“Understood, Sir.” A few seconds passed and the man’s voice returned, clipped and short. “Process completed, Sir. EDI, initiate Mass Effect field positioning of the drop pod for the insertion operation.”

“Working now.” He felt the pod shudder and his sense of gravity shift as the Mass Effect fields, under the ship’s AI controls, lift his pod from the metal grating of the shuttle-bay floor. Thirty seconds later, the AI spoke again in that almost eerily polite voice she always used, “Pod in position, Lieutenants. Ready for tactical sub-orbital insertion operation on your command.”

“Estimated time to landfall is thirty seconds, Rookie.” Cortez added quickly, which the ODST acknowledged with a grunt and nothing else. Thirty seconds was a long time to be falling, but… The Reapers wouldn’t be expecting this. “Just finished last checks on the ME field generators and field manipulators. We’re ready down here, Joker, it’s back to you.

“Making final positioning maneuvers, on approach to drop coordinates. Dropping in five seconds, hold on to your asses. Gonna have to get artsy with this angle...” Nothing else to do, with his rifle once more locked safely in place to prevent its being damaged, he began to count.

“One one thousand...” He felt the ship shudder, the wind buffeting its hull quietly but somehow roaring in his ears all the same. As the wind were trying to outdo the heartbeat, thrumming in his ears.

“Two one thousand… Three one thousands...” He closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath to once again steady himself. The sound of his own heartbeat faded, replaced by the now much louder roar of the wind outside, buffeting his pod as the bay door slid opened behind him. He felt another gentle tremor as the Mass Effect fields began to release just as he hit the fourth second, and finally he felt himself relax.

“Five one thousands.” Eyes closed against the shift in gravity, he felt the change as wind began buffeting against his hull. The wind howled against him and spun the pod, but the kinetic and thermal barriers protected him inside the metal casket from the worst of the wind and heat. Silent inside, all he could do was wait until he felt the ground and gravity once more claim dominion over him. 

But he’d have been telling a lie if he said he didn’t feel at him there, in the sky, plummeting towards the distant Tuchankan soil. 

Twenty five seconds later by his count, he felt his shuttle slam through something and then into the more solid ground, hard enough he would have been thrown from his seat if not for the harness he wore, his hands gripping the arms of his pod’s chair hard enough his fingers ached. As his shuttle rolled across the ground, he heard the recognizable, heavy thuds of bodies on the metal until he finally came to a stop. He took a breath and waited, Omni-Tool glowing dimly in the dark interior of his pod, no brighter than embers from a fire.

Outside, he heard heavy footfalls around the pod, and then the sounds of something climbing on it. Then several somethings, and his hand moved to hover over the detonator for the charges lining the outside of his drop pod. His eyes watched the two windows still bare of the armor, claws and hands scraping along his pod’s hull outside with loud scraping and clawing noises, until finally a blue, five digited hand slapped against the window in search of purchase. It pulled the Husk attached to it up, face hovering in front of the window for a moment before it recognized him and hiss mutely. 

“Welcome to Hell.” He grunted, slamming his hand against the ‘Tool’s trigger for emphasis and then gritting his teeth. The explosives thumped around him, the sound and force slamming into him a scant second before his helmet muted the audio to protect him, jerking the pod in place with its force, and hurled the armored sections through the air at a hundred miles an hour’s worth of subsonic, shredded death. 

The trooper yanked his Harrier free of its holster beside him, standing on his seat and poking his head and shoulders through the ragged tear, sweeping around him in a quick circle and surveying the damages around him. Dozens of Husks, Brutes, even a few Marauders lay around him shredded, impaled, burned and crushed under the chunks and shards of armor plating. Then the ground shook under him and the Reaper, looming above, roared in rage. His helmet slammed the external audio-mute down instantly, but he felt the vibrations through his helmet regardless. 

He clambered out of the pod as quickly as he could with his bones vibrating inside his body, then stumbled and fell when he hit the ground. It was like his center of balance was being thrown off by something, probably involved with the deafening sound cascading down onto him. Something in the corner of his vision caught his attention and he turned, rifle snapping up, to belt rounds he couldn’t hear or even feel firing into the staggering, bleeding Husk trying to meander towards him. His aim was off from the sensations drumming through him from the sound, four rounds whipping through the air around the Husk before five ripped into its body and threw it back against the broken concrete behind it.

In the distance, he could hear the muted sounds of gunfire, explosions and the other assorted sounds of battle. He could also pick up footfalls and roars, near enough that he could pick them out over the gunfire, and knew reinforcements were on their way for the Reapers he’d killed in his landing. He ignored it, turning to run towards one of the raised walkways the Hammers were place on, reaching the end and slamming his hand down on the button unmolested. 

Then something behind him bellowed and he turned, a wounded and bleeding Brute staggering into view at the end of the platform. So the explosives hadn’t killed all of them… To be expected of the haphazardly made weaponization of his pod, normally unarmed and thus not made or shaped for the purpose of also being a bomb. 

Sprinting towards it, he traded his rifle for a grenade in one hand and a glob of Omni-Gel in the other and the Brute roared in rage, swinging a clumsy strike at him as he met it. Barely stepping to its left and then ducking under its arm, he slapped the Omni-Gel against it in the crook of its grotesque elbow, and then the grenade as well before he pressed against its chest to move with it. The creature, dumb and confused, planted its heavy arm and lifted its weak one, looking for him but only creating an opening for him to duck through. As though in realization of its mistake, it roared as he ran from it. 

The sound vanished in a muted thump of the grenade going off behind him, showering his back in metal and flesh along with the ground ahead of him as he ran. He heard the pattering and thudding of armored feet, turning his upper body and firing rounds into the rushing Husks and Cannibals headed towards him from the temple’s more ‘traditional’ entrance. The heavy rounds tore through the unarmored Reapers, their bodies falling wounded or dead and then being trampled under those behind them as he ran from the dozens that pursued him as well as their awkward gaits allowed. Reapers, it seemed, didn’t design their creatures for speed.

The plan had worked, he knew from the small number of dredges chasing him as he ascended the stairs to the last Hammer, slamming in a fresh clip and turning at the apex of the steps to put short bursts into the Reapers close enough to worry him. They fell and, still firing, a hand fished the second grenade off his belt and hurled it towards the entrance, now a mass of Reaper limbs headed towards him. Once again, he turned before it detonated, but he felt the scraps slamming into and around him.

Halfway to the last Hammer, he allowed himself to smile.

And then cried out, shoulder jerking to the side as a round slammed into him hard enough to nearly throw him off his feet. He staggered, barrier sparking, and searched around himself for the Reaper that had done it. All he saw was a distant glint of light lost among the stone surrounding the temple ruins before, soundless, another round slammed into and through his chestplate. He choked, felt the round smack into his backplate, and staggered again before leaning against the wall to his right and sinking to a choking knee, wheezing for breath.

Turning at the sound of feet, and in spite of the fire in his chest, he emptied his clip into the Husks and Cannibals clambering towards him. Seeing the weak creatures give way to the armored hulk of a Brute, he plucked his last grenade from his belt and forced himself to stand, pitching it at the creature and turning towards the Hammer again.

He made it three steps before another soundless round slammed home, this time into the unarmored juncture between the plating on his thigh and his knee-guard, tearing through the bodysuit and flesh beneath that like paper. Screaming in surprise and pain, he did fall this time, his rifle clattering ahead of him. 

“-ok!” The sound was staticy and indiscernible, covered in static, but deep and bassy in an unmistakably Krogan way. Wrex, he was sure, forcing himself to rise on hands and knees and crawl to his rifle. “Wher- lros? -s happen-”

Hoping it would get through, activated his line and grunted, “Sniper took out my leg.”

“Your -mn leg?” The voice was angry, now, but feminine. Shepard was on the channel too, apparently, the duo likely having called for an update. He ignored the pain, forcing himself to rise and stagger towards the Hammer, turning to lean against it and slam a fresh clip in, belting rounds towards the Reapers approaching him. “-king Sal- -ns. -nding Cortez for -up. -ld on.”

“Negative. We need Kalros.” The Krogan did, at least, and so he turned and looked around himself. Sand, shifting and too loose for even the Reapers to stand on…

“I am -dering-” 

Another mute sound slammed into him, this one carving through the side of his helmet and leaving a bloody furrow in the flesh underneath. He snarled, in pain or defiance he wasn’t sure what, and slammed a hand down into the button. Then a last round punching into his chestplate and shattered his collarbone through it, throwing him back and to the side. 

Into a sea of sand and blissful blackness.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“How’d it go?” His eyes snapped open, looking up at blue sky with plumes of smoke climbing into it. Sitting up, he was surprised by the lack of burning pain, hands searching his chest plate for holes or blood and coming back impossibly clean. “You’re unconscious, Rookie. In shock from multiple gunshots and a bad fall.” 

“Shock…” He turned, looking at the broken man laying in his ruined, melted black armor. “Gage?”

“Yep. The hell you doin’ comin’ to me when you’re about to die?” The man laughed and then coughed, shaking his burned and old head. Then he smiled bitterly and sighed, “Okay, laughing is bad… Noted.”

“Anyway, doesn’t matter.” The man moved on before either of them could say anything on that, smiling in spite of the agony he should have been in, and then repeated, “How’d it go, Rookie? I mean, you outran the nuke, at least, so… Good on you for that.”

“Reach fell.” He said quietly, unsure of what to say really.

“I know.” Gage tapped a finger to his head and smirked, raising a burned brow at him mockingly. “I’m in your head, I know what you know. Not asking about the UNSC, askin’ about your new team. Your new home.”

“I don’t…” He trailed off, turning to look out at the burning city and then smiling sadly. “They’re good people. Some of them are aliens, but… Different than the Covenant. Better. Like…”

“Friends?” Gage asked, raising that brow even higher and earning a nod from the other, younger soldier. “An alien just shot you, though, didn’t he? A Salarian, right? Aliens can’t be that good if they’re shooting you when you’re trying to save their nasty, scaly asses from the Reapers. Makes me wonder why you’re fighting in this war...”

“Earth is-”

“In danger, but not your Earth.” Gage pointed out, wagging a finger, chastising him as though the two and a half decade long life hadn’t gotten him away from being treated like a child. “You were free here, in this galaxy, universe, whatever the hell. You were free. The Reapers would have gotten you eventually, but…” He shrugged ruined shoulders, “You could have left the military, retired somewhere hidden for years.”

“They would have found me eventually.” He knew it, the Reapers would sweep every world for anything they deemed a threat. Here, there, or somewhere between on a battlefield, he’d die anyways. “This kind of war, there’s no hiding from it. You know that as well as anyone.”

“We have Javik’s memories too, up here in our noggins. We both know that you could have hidden for the rest of your life, if you wanted to.” He pointed out, giving the younger ODST a hard look. “Don’t lie to me, I’m you so I’ll know. Why did you agree to fight in some random fuckoff war you had nothing to do with?”

“I wanted to fight.”

“You wanted to die.” Gage corrected and, while he wanted to argue, he… Couldn't bring himself to. He had wanted to die, in service to protecting Earth, but…

“I don’t anymore.” He said quietly, hopefully, looking to the other ODST as though for confirmation.

“And now you don’t. Not anymore, which is a really good thing for you.” The man grinned his agreement, holding up the detonator to the nuke behind him, and added, “Because getting shot hurts like hell, let me tell you.” 

“And some absolute prick just gave us an adrenaline shot.”

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“Gah!” He heaved for breath and then grit his teeth through the pain that caused, arms curling around his chest for a moment before a slender pair of hands grabbed one arm and much more massive fingers wrapped around the other, prying them apart while a third figure with equally meaty hands jabbed something into his side. “What is-”

“Medi-Gel.” Shepard, her voice tight and strained, answered before he could finish the question. True enough, the cooling sensation spread across his chest and his vision began to clear while she went on, “You got shot to shit by a sniper. Your wounds are severe, but… But you'll be fine.”

“The Hammers, did they-”

“Kalros came runnin’, Rook, and the Reapers’ tactics went right to hell with the Reaper.” The voice was low, grainy and basy, and clearly Wrex by how he spoke. Holding him down, the Krogan added, “Found you bleedin’ out in the sand, tryin’ to swim, and dragged you into a Tomkah. Got a doc here patching you up best a Krogan could hope for while we head for the Hollows to announce the victory.”

“The Cure went through, Rookie.” He turned bleary eyes on Shepard, the woman’s helmet gone, face grimy and tear-tracked but smiling regardless. “The Turians pulled the attention off you, and the Korgan thinned them out, but…”

“You saved a species, John.” Wrex said, almost reverently, laying a hand on his good shoulder and nodding grimly. “My species, in fact. You just made a legend, Rook. Summoned the Mother of Thresher Maws, then swam with her while she tore apart a Reaper… And you lived through it. Ha!”

“Be quiet, loud sounds are going to be quite painful for him. Now shoo, he needs the anesthetic and rest.” The Krogan, voice lighter and softer. Feminine even. Wrex nodded and shuffled aside, the other Krogan laying a hand on his chest gently and pressing a needle against his skin, speaking softly. “He’s correct, though. Our children will hear tales of the skyfalled Human who called on the Maw Mother and swam her sands to save our race, I shall ensure it.”

“Get some sleep, John.” Shepard ordered gently, the woman smiling down at him as the drugs kicked in and forced him into unconsciousness. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“Wrex, that Salarian is still out there.” She pointed out quietly, watching the ODST being carried away on a stretcher towards the shuttle to be taken to the Normandy. Beside her, the old Krogan hummed an affirmative and she grinned. “EDI says no ships have left the planet yet aside from a Turian shuttle, that the Primarch knows was for a medi-vac.”

“Blood Pack is out there, huntin’ ‘em down on my orders.” He grunted, arms crossed beside her. Turning to look at her, he grinned and asked, “You thinking what I’m thinking, Shep?”

“We found Saren’, didn’t we?” She smiled, rolling her neck until it popped. “No one shoots my squad like that and gets away with it. So you feel like a bounty hunt, while everyone puts their toys away?”

“Heh heh heh…” The Salarian wouldn’t know what hit him… Aside from the fists, of course. “Let’s get goin’, Shepard. Been forever since I had a good old fashion bounty hunt.”

The woman just nodded, turning to walk back towards the Tomkahs and radiating rage enough that even the Krogan in her way very quickly got out of her way. Chuckling low in the back of his throat, the Warlord followed after her without another word. Humans had a saying… Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

Wrex did too. ‘Don’t fuck with Shepard if you liked having a pulse’.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Battle Unit :

He could also, you know, get shot five times by a sniper.

Peroli Ryu :

About that deadly curveball…

SD Phantom :

Glad you enjoyed it. Also, you got to ride a train? Jealousy!

Comrade Megumin :

Glad it was that good! Hope you enjoy… (googling) Croatia?! Well then. Neat. 

Bucio :

The sabotage was the Salarians, specifically their STG operatives.


	16. Chapter 16

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(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“You sure this is the place, Nanat?” Wrex asked quietly, looking at another Krogan. This one was smaller and younger than the High Warlord, hide marked in less scars than an older Krogan would bear and hump a few inches smaller, light armor colored a mix of drab, old browns, reds and muted greens from being handed off so often. The tracker gave the Krogan Warlord a look and then turned it on Shepard, and Wrex explained lowly, “Just looks like a slum. Doesn’t scream ‘Salarian’ to me.”

“One ‘o my tracking-apprentices said he found Salarian tracks around the old building. Too small for Krogan to use, not enough structure to repurpose ‘round it, so Krogan tend to leave it to crumble. Got a flat top, too. Good for shuttle landings.” Left unsaid, Wrex knew, was that an abandoned building like that would be perfect for outlaws, outcasts, hunting lodges, and any other number of things. Including a hideout for infiltrators and spies, something Salarians loved. “S’also a direct track of typically unpatrolled ground between here and the Shroud.”

“It could be a forward posting then. Something permanent, this close to the Shroud.” Shepard said quietly, leaning against the wall of a long-collapsed building, one of hundreds in this area just like it that had been piled over time into thirty foot tall piles of concrete, useless iron and whatever else they found in the scavenging around the old Temple to Kalros. “Lots of ruined buildings, not a lot of through traffic but the roads are kept clear for trade and scavenging… It’d be perfect to monitor the Shroud and the area.”

“If it’s permanent, means that they probably know we’re coming, Shepard.” He pointed out, the woman nodding mutely at the information and adjusting her grip on her rifle. “Means they’re prepared, too.”

“Good.” She said quietly, turning the rifle in her hand to check the ammo block idly. “Don’t care about it, either. I want three alive, counting the officer in charge, if possible. If not, just the officer is fine.”

“Confirmation they did it?” He asked, checking his own shotgun, trading out a thermal clip absently. 

“S’what I want him for, yeah.” She answered equally shortly, shouldering her rifle when she was satisfied. “Your planet, so if you want to give the plan, I won’t complain. I’d welcome not making the command call for once today, actually.”

“I’ll smash you grab, then. Same old same old.” The High Warlord grunted, rolling his great shoulders and feeling the familiar ache of battle in them from the day’s long, long fighting. Even by krogan standards, they’d been at it for a while now. Just one more, for today… Not that he wasn’t going to enjoy some payback for this. “Lost a lotta good Krogan today ‘cuz of their bullshit. I’m going to enjoy this.”

“Me too.” She said quietly, the two pushing off the wall without another word and stepping into the open, leaving the tracker-Krogan behind. The Salarians knew they were coming, but Wrex and Shepard both knew that it wouldn’t matter in the end. So there was no point trying to use subtlety. Better to crush them completely, and go in hard. 

Leading the way, Wrex slammed into the ramshackled metal barrier that served as the door for the hideout. Inside, the place looked drastically different to how it had from the outside, clean, sleek and very much a Salarian safehouse. An overturned table that had dominated the single room hosted three Salarian agents, wielding light submachine guns that did nothing as the irate Krogan charged, bowling over the table and crushing one of the Salarians as he went. The other two leapt away, turning to fire into his back, which Shepard made sure to put down with concise bursts of center mass fire.

The Salarians fell back on the bunks that lined either side of the little safehouse, Wrex barreling into the next Salarian standing beside a door that lead into a back room. The Krogan grabbed the alien and turned, hurling the alien bodily across the safehouse and into a heap at Shepard’s feet. 

It looked up at her and she brought a boot down, knocking it out and barking a, “One alive.” Then she spared a glance to the Salarians she’d shot, one dead and the other clutching its stomach where the three rounds that punched through shields and armor had sunk in. Kneeling to apply Medi-Gel to it, she amended, “Make it two.”

“Got the officer.” Wrex grunted, tossing the mildly more impressively armored, green-tinged alien on the ground with his unconscious fellow. Kneeling on the floor and grinning viciously, Wrex asked, “Now, which of you boys shot my friend at the Shroud? You tell me, and I promise you live through this.”

“Commander, you must know this is an act of war against the Salarian Union.” The officer stated simply, folding its legs and smiling confidently, kneeling on the ground. “You can’t hurt us at all. Neither can Urdnot Wrex, since he’s allied to you and thus you are subject to Council punishments for what he does with you around. I will not cooperate, and you will arrange my internment according to the rules of law as a result. The same can be said of my men.”

Shepard was quiet for a long time, standing above the downed Salarian with the light filtering in from outside casting her shadow across the Salarians in front of her. Then, she laughed. Long, loud, and like she’d heard the funniest joke ever to be uttered by mortal men, until she had to turn and lean against the wall, clutching a hand to her side as the laughing sent stitches up her sides. The Salarian leader gave his wounded comrade a confused look, smile gone from his face, and the wounded alien shrugged weakly on the ground.

“I’m sorry, I just…” She straightened and coughed, shaking her helmet head and collapsing her rifle to store on her back, still shaking her head as she approached. Drawing her Predator, she knelt in front of the lead Salarian and asked quietly, “What, exactly, makes you think for a second that I’m worried about some stupid treaty right now? I’m a Spectre, I can do whatever I damn well please as long as I at least say it’s for the good of the Citadel. And you fucks,” she said, waving the Predator between them indicatively, “just shot a man, and jeopardized the fate of the galaxy in doing so. Treason against the Citadel on behalf of the entire Salarian Union, and an act of war against an alliance consisting of the Krogan Warlords, Turian Hierarchy, Volus Banking Clans and Systems Alliance.”

“So,” she nodded, letting her arm hang down over her knee and shrugging, “I guess that means the Union will be subject of a declaration of war, if you won’t cooperate. Now, how do you think the Union will do in that kind of war?”

“Please say you think it’ll do well, Toadie.” Wrex added in a rumbling tone, chortling low in his chest along with it. “I’d love to land Krogan troops on Sur’Kesh, really raise some hell. I can hear the story tellers now, ‘First Warlord to land twice on Sur’Kesh, and First Warlord to raze its capital.’ It’ll be a blast and a half, and maybe I’ll even get to kill a Dalatrass myself, hah!”

“So let me try this again.” Shepard said quietly, turning her head until her neck popped threateningly. “Who was the sniper? Who ordered the attack? How did you know when we were launching our operation, or what it was? You can answer me, or you can stay quiet, and I’ll get you a front row seat to the siege of Sur’Kesh.”

“You wouldn’t dare…” The Salarian murmured in disbelief, eyes twitching as they searched Shepard’s eyes behind her mask for anything that might prove her to be lying. “The Reapers would slaughter us all, if you weakened yourselves sieging the Union. It would be… It would be suicide.”

“Just who the hell do you think I am?” She barked a laugh, shaking her head and sighing contentedly. “Suicide missions are my specialty, Salarian. Tracking Saren, teleporting into the Citadel where I’d be trapped and surrounded by sieging Geth, leading a Krogan blitz straight to the man you bastards shot and the Shroud to cure the disease you lot made… I make a business of suicide missions going well. And honestly?”

“I love them.” She sighed whimsically, playing the part of the crazy soldier many thought she was. Wrex knew it for what it was and rumbled a laugh that only made the Salarian prisoner even more frightened. “Some people like sex, some people like drugs, me? I like a good, dangerous, mission. Something I shouldn’t come back from. The-The risk just,” she hummed and shook her head, “gets the heart going. So please give me a good reason to up the ante.”

“I-I’ll answer your questions.” The Salarian said quietly, shoulders sagging in defeat while the Spectre in front of him smiled thinly. “Just… Please, don’t do that.”

“Good idea.” She said, standing again and looking to Wrex. “Send a call for your men, we’ll question them all later. I’ll have Liara tear this place apart and put those connections of hers to the test.”

“And if they try some Salarian bullshit?” Wrex asked, already knowing what she’d say even before she turned and shrugged her armored shoulders.

“They shot my man, Wrex. Tried to kill him in cold blood. Fry ‘em and eat ‘em if you want to, I won’t give a fuck either way.” Without another word backwards, she turned and left, the Salarians eying the Krogan warlord fearfully. 

They wouldn’t do a damn thing, he knew. Too scared of Shepard to even consider it, now. Sometimes, the old Battlemaster wondered if she was a Krogan in disguise, the crazy bitch that she was.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“I’m fine.” He grunted again, laid up in the Normandy’s medical office once again, shirtless and with his arm in a sling and his leg in a brace to let the muscles heal. “My collar is broken and the muscles in my leg need to heal. That is all. Please, update me on-”

The door slid open, Shepard striding in with her armor on, sans helmet, covered in harsh battle damage and dirt. Shoulders sagging and head bowed, she grabbed the doctor’s chair and dragged it with her to his bedside, plopping down and sighing tiredly before turning to the older woman and asking, “How is the little shit doin’, doc?”

“Three broken ribs, a fracture along his collar bone, a deep cut to the side of his head and mild fractures in the surrounding skull, badly pierced muscles just above his knee…” Chakwas gave him a sour glance and then added, with a bit more heat than necessary, “And a likely case of brain damage, considering everything.”

“How soon can you get him up?” The commando asked mechanically, clearly exhausted in a way that worried the ODST. She caught his look and he realized how obvious his worry must have been when her face softened, the edges of her eyes crinkling a bit and lips turning up in a small smile. “Don’t look so worried about me, Rook. Just had some… Annoying little shits to track down was all. I’m fine, I’m planning on catching some sleep right after this. So cut the concerned face, yeah?”

“...Acknowledged.” He said after a second, grimacing and turning to lay his head down and close his eyes. He could feel his face, so he knew it hadn’t been that obvious or bad, but… He missed his helmet, it was so much more comfortable. On that note, he asked, “What is the status of my armor?”

“Hole in the chest, tears in the undersuit, and one fucked up helmet.” Shepard summarised quickly, ticking off each item with a long, thin finger as she went. “Got Vega and Garrus workin’ on getting it repaired, don’t worry about it at all. You and it will be patched up soon enough, don’t worry. Speaking of, Chakwas?”

“One and a half months at Huerta Memorial, preferably.” She gave the ODST a sour look and rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest and sighing. “But you are a stubborn ass, so I would wager you stage an escape attempt inside three weeks of our arrival.”

“I need a private word with him, so could you go and arrange the medical transfer for me? Just some paperwork, far as I know.” She drummed her fingers on her armored thighs and smiled toothily at the doctor. Chakwas, after a few seconds of an attempted stare down, finally sighed, rolled her eyes, and turned to leave. Once the old doctor had gone, the smile vanished and Shepard rounded on the wounded Trooper. “Now, Rook, please. What did I say about dying out there?”

“I didn’t die.”

“Not for lack of trying, John!” She snapped back leaning her elbow on her armored knee and pinching the bridge of her nose. For a few seconds, she simply sat like that, in complete silence and without anything to tell the wounded Trooper what she was thinking. Whatever it was had her tense, though, he could tell from her slouched but stiff shoulders and the way she squeezed her eyes shut. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be angry.” She finally said, smiling thinly and looking at him again, this time seeming to… Relax a bit. “I ‘mama bear’ a bit too much over my men, you know? And I don’t like sending anyone on missions like that, dangerous enough to just be a suicide attempt… But, I mean, I rushed ahead of a Krogan charging line, into Reaper lines with Wrex and, like… Three Krogan in an old truck to get to you, so I guess I don’t get to talk about suicide attempts.”

“Fair.” So that’s how she’d gotten to him so fast… A stupid move, to be sure, but without the Reaper itself around to control the tactics of the Reaper forces directly on the ground, they’d fall out of formation quickly enough. “How’d the battle at large go? I suffered delays in calling Kalros, so-”

“None of that, John, you did just fine. No one expected a damn thing more from you, and on the ground, the Krogan don’t have a bad word to say about you. They’re throwin’ parties and fighting the Reapers.” He nodded acceptingly and she, once more, relaxed again beside him and went on. “Battle went fine. Krogan charged from every side, suffered bad for it, but they knew they would… Wrex and I lead a lance of Tomkahs to assault the Shroud and temple both, lost most of those as well, but we made it. Everything’s fine, now.”

“And the Cure?” He knew the answer, deep down, but he needed to hear it to make it real. So much cost had been paid… He needed to know. “Did it work?”

“Tests are running now, but the Shroud dispersed properly before the sabotage the damn STG put in brought the machine down. Dispersal covered seventy percent of the planet, and the Cure proper will be confined to Krogan who were here, but…” She shrugged and her smiled turned toothy and wide, head cocked to the side in that bright, sprightly way she did sometimes. Like a red-haired pixie, from movies he’d watched back home when he was younger, if an armored and battle-forged one. “The Cure was dispersed, and even the Krogan who didn’t get one will fight for us now that we got it through for them.”

“Especially given we sided against the Salarians to do it. Along with the Turians.” An old set of grudges, but one that was useful to rally the Krogan people. 

“Yeah. The Turians are in on that particular feud, too, but…” She shrugged simply, “The Turians have been fighting and dying for the Krogan. And the Salarians have been the ones trying to stick shit in the wheels, so the animosity is mostly dead towards them. What I understand, the Turians have actually been invited to a couple of the tribe’s celebrations.”

“Understood.” Then relations were good. Which was… Good. “I’m glad the plans succeeded, Ma’am.”

“Yeah, but that’s… Not really, you know, why I’m here.” She said simply, scotting the chair closer to the head of the bed a bit and crossing a leg over her knee comfortably. “First, I wanted to say I am proud of you, John. As a crewmate and a team member, you’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty in the war against the Reaper threat. So, I’ve approved with Hackett… I’m promoting you to Lieutenant Commander, in service aboard the Normandy, as I need an officer directly under me to coordinate mission operations.”

“Oh…” That was a skip of rank if he’d ever seen one, but there was merit to it. She did need a second officer on the ground, to lead other teams with actual authority rather than granted authority. Straightening, he nodded curtly and added in a quiet voice, “Understood, Ma’am. Thank you.”

“Anyone insane enough to drop in a metal pod under a Reaper Destroyer, and bad ass enough to make it work, deserves the rank. Plus,” she smiled apologetically and shrugged, “I need a new officer to take the role for provisional reasons. And with the war on, casualties are too high on frontline vessels to spare me a second.”

“I understand.” He nodded, adjusting himself on the bed and trying to sit up more until Shepard glared at him gently. Laying flat once more, he added in a firm voice, “I’ll do my best to fulfill my duties as needed, Ma’am.”

“I know you will, even if it kills you. Just the kind of man you are, end of the day.” She shrugged like it didn’t matter, but he heard a touch of frustration and admiration in her tone as she said it. Like she admired his selfless determination and hated it at the same time, somehow. “You’re also getting two medals. One for being grievously wounded in combat and the other for duties exceeding the bounds of expected function. Medal of combat honors and the purple heart.”

“Understood.”

“Oh, remind me to show you my collection sometime.” She added with that bright smile of hers, grinning ear to ear. “They told me I’m not allowed to have more than one Combat Honor medal, and that thirty was the limit of Valorous Wound Suffrage I was allowed, too. I have ‘em in a case in my room.”

“If you want me to.” He shrugged and spoke quietly, and she rolled her eyes knowingly.

“There won’t be any ceremonies for it, or your promotion, with the war on. No time for officers to be handing out medals until after it’s all said and done, according to Hackett.” Shepard assured him, the ODST stiffening at having been so easily caught out but nodding gratefully regardless after a second. “The clans are also hosting a formal celebration in a couple of days. Hackett is ordering us both to attend, as Alliance representatives. Apparently, we’re getting adopted.”

“What?” That was… An unexpected thing to hear, to say the least. “What do you mean, adopted?”

“The clans are adopting us as honorary Krogans, and members of their clan. Typically, Krogan young are put through a sort of trial by fire to test them, and the same applies to adopted people. But I already did it a year or so back, with a Krogan named Grunt. And you,” she said, leaning forward to poke his leg meaningfully, “dove between a Reaper’s legs, summoned a Krogan deity figure, and then killed the Reaper with it. Urdnot is getting me, since I did less than you, but you?”

She laughed, shaking her head and leaning back in her chair, “Clans are squabbling over who gets to tag you with their name. Whichever one does, they get a lot of prestige. You know they have nicknames for you now?” He shook his head and she started naming them, “Kalros-Caller, Sand-Swimmer, Reaperphage, Reaper’s Bane… There’s a lot of ‘em.”

“That’s ridiculous… All I did was hit a couple buttons.” And get smacked around a hell of a lot, shot up a little bit, and then fall into the sand below the temple. Nothing that should reasonably merit getting fought over and nicknamed like that. 

“Krogan are a warlike race, so a badass move like yours… Kinda goes further than otherwise.” She shrugged, standing and yawning theatrically as she did. “I’m going to get some very deserved rest, John. You should, too. I’ll let you know when you have to get suited up to head down to Tuchanka again.”

“Understood.” For once, he actually wanted some rest. It had been a while since he’d been so hurt, and he looked forward to good rest and getting back into the fight soon. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“You look great, so stop fussing with your collar.” She assured him for the third time, the ODST grunting unsurely and adjusting the Alliance uniform she’d made him wear. The uniform was the same she wore, with his two shining medals attached to the left breast of it like Shepard’s ten medals. “Your medals are turned around though, got ‘em in the wrong order.”

“I didn’t know.” He grunted simply, the slightly taller woman stepping in front of him nd leaning down, swapping the medals on his chest quickly. 

“You’re career infantry, er, sort of. Makes sense you wouldn’t know officer uniform rules. So don’t stress it, you won’t wear it a hell of a lot, and I’ll spot check for ya.” She glanced up at him to catch the nod she knew she’d get and returned the gesture, then straightened and reached up to adjust his beret slightly to the right. “Beret goes off-center just a scratch, too. Dunno why, though. Just how it goes.”

“I understand.” Uniforms were weird like that, sometimes, he knew. “Thank you for the help, Ma’am.”

“Well, I mean, the Krogan won’t be able to tell, probably. And if they can, they won’t give a fuck about it, but… Pays to look the part, right?” He didn’t answer, and the woman stepped back, leaning against the shuttle in the center of the bay to give him another once over. “There, all spiffed up. How’s the leg?”

“It’s sufficient, Commander.” He glanced down at the heavy, segmented cast around his leg as he spoke and grunted. 

Ceramic, tubing and hydraulic mechanics allowed it to move, and held the weight for him so the damaged muscles didn’t need to do anything. His gait was a but altered, though, since he wasn’t supposed to lift the leg off the floor. Instead, he had to drag it along the floor, sliding along a ceramic plate on the bottom of the boot. It looked ridiculous, the walk and the brace both, but it let him walk well enough and that’s all that he cared about. 

“Best we could rig up, just… Bear with it, okay? For today.” He nodded and she sighed, seeming tired and somehow uncomfortable in the uniform. Why, he wasn’t sure, but she seemed to not like wearing it. After a moment’s thought, he dismissed it and listened to the woman ramble, “Victus made it, actually. Said it was the least he could do, designing it, since you did so much to save his planet with the Krogan support. And everyone else was busy, so… Kinda weird for you to have the damn Primarch working on so much stuff for you.”

“A bit.” He nodded honestly, the woman snorting in amusement at something he must have missed. 

“You’re banged up, so you get to be flippant and short for a bit. Don’t get used to it though, Rook.” He nodded and she sighed, smirking at himi and then looking past him at something. Turning, he saw Cortez approaching, and Shepard spoke, “Time to roll out already, eh?”

“Yes, Ma’am, everything’s taken care of and it’s coming on time you get down there and meet the High Warlord and his new Warlord Council.” The dark skinned man waved a hand at the shuttle and smiled warmly. “So if you guys are ready… Hop on, we’ll get down to your party.”

“Well,” Shepard grinned, holding out an arm and cocking her head playfully at him, “Shall you escort me to the ball, kind sir?”

Sighing, he accepted the subtle offer of a supporting arm and leaned on her, letting the woman support some of his weight on his wounded side. His pride wasn’t above a shoulder to lean on when he was wounded, after all, that had gotten beaten out by his sergeant in training. So he let her help him into the shuttle and ease him into a seat, and nodded when she checked to make sure he was comfortable enough. He wasn’t really comfortable, the starched, pressed uniform needing him to sit up straighter than his ribs liked, but he nodded regardless. 

And as always, he saw on her face she knew his bullshit, but she didn’t say anything on it. Instead, she called out, “Good to go, Cortez.” In a quieter tone, and with a sigh, she added, “Let’s get this over with…”

He loved Wrex, but he couldn’t agree more.

“Then we can get you to the Citadel, so you can lay up until you get all healed up.” Shepard grinned when he scowled at her, and he growled. The woman just laughed brightly at his frustrated growl, shaking her head as the shuttle lifted and turned in the simulated gravity environment of the ship. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

And now Tuchanka is dooooone entirely. That doesn’t mean we’re done with Wrex or the Krogan, but we are done with Tuchanka itself. The next arc is the Council Arc, with the Citadel, Cerberus and the Salarian Union all taking front stage. Hope you’ve enjoyed the Tuchanka arc, and hope you enjoy the Council Arc.

Cheers~!

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Nlong :

I’m glad you’re enjoying the story, friend-o. But yeah, gunfights are an entirely new thing for me, which is why so many chapters are so short. Because the fights in them were just so ridiculously hard to write, for me. 

I am a quick learner, though, and like to believe I am improving quickly. 

Trife :

Nope, the Salarians are important to the next arc for that exact reason.

Deadly Bacon 50 :

Could be. I’m letting it evolve organically as I write. The story ending for both characters are already decided, but the in-betweens… I’m leaving that open to decide itself. I would note, though, that characters can have intimate moments as these two do and not get together.

So is kinda up to the readers and natural story evolution.

Zeus 501 :

A SOIEV drop pod is armored, an escape pod isn’t. They planned and needed to use explosive charges to clear out the area for him to disembark. The SSV Normandy also uses a different style of escape pod, one that is less suited for crashing down like that. It would have also been a waste of a usable life pod since it could house people ejecting from the Normandy going down, but the SOIEV couldn’t.

Guest :

Salarians are good at two things - Spying and Assassinations. 

In the game, the Salarians outright know Shepard’s every move, down to the point of trying to contact her to sabotage the Shroud and the Cure. It’s perfectly reasonable to accept Salarians could infiltrate Turians and Krogan lines, or tap communications, and get access to the plans. Especially with Victus calling out for reinforcements and sharing the plan with his forces for coordination. 

It also wasn’t a matter of not being able to get there at all. It was a matter of it being hard which is also ripped from the game. In-game, she has to avance for a couple miles through Reaper infested and defended ruins, fighting her way there while Krogan spend hours elsewhere fighting. Here, the plan to drop in saves time, so the Krogan need to hold for a shorter amount of time. Instead, Shepard and Wrex - along with other Warlords - planned to blitz into combat to support John. Look up Rommel’s blitz maneuvers and you’ll get an idea of how this works. 

The only people that get there are a single Tomkah. The Salarian is sniping from a long way off. And his wounds weren’t severe enough to kill him right away, he’d have bled out for a few minutes at least. And with a blitz maneuver, support got to him before that and applied Medi-Gel. 

Also, in the game, Kalros kills the Reaper in under two minutes.


	17. Chapter 17

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(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Huerta Memorial Hospital was something wholly different from the wayward warrior’s expectations of a hospital, even in the context of his unintentional dimensional tourism and everything it had shown him. 

For one, it was smaller than he’d expected, and its staffing was as well. Only a dozen doctors, and half a century of support staff to help them. Thirty of the hundred feet of the complex was taken up by a lounge and welcoming area, for patient visitation and therapy sessions for the less critically injured patients as well as information processing. The next twenty feet consisted of a long, glass-walled passageway that divided a laboratory area, where some of the doctors conducted tests and studies. Elevators in the furthest back led up, out of Huerta Memorial proper and into Huerta Medical, which he hadn’t been to but had been told was a general treatment facility for more normal cases, nestled higher up until it reached the sky walkway spanning between the two curves of the arm of the Citadel it had been built on. 

It was the third, furthest back and just before the elevator where the inpatient wing and examination rooms were nestled in, where he was forced to spend his time. 

Outside his door, whenever it opened, he could see the two soldiers flanking the entrance. One was a Turian in sleek black armor with a dull silver Phaeston across his chest, angry red lines highlighting the armor’s edges and contours and painted across his face. The other was a Krogan in new looking blue armor, sent on behalf of his adopted clan, Kralt. The armor, he knew, was brand new, bought by Kralt and Urdnot both along with the new Mattock heavy rifle the scarred, old warrior held. 

“Does their presence bother you?” His guest asked, voice flanging the way it always did while deft fingers sliced an apple on the little tray over his bed that hospital beds always had. “They are only here for your protection, you know. It’s been but two weeks and change since the Salarian Union attempted to assassinate you, after all.”

“They should be out there fighting the Reapers.” Or Cerberus, if the Union if that came to actual war instead of ‘talks’ as Shepard kept calling the numerous Council meetings and the inquiry. “I’m in a secure location, with security forces already here in case of attack. My window even has a kinetic barrier generator.”

“Indeed. Like all the other first floor, VIP rooms, yours came equipped.” The Drell smiled pleasantly then, and turned to look at the furthest corner by the window, where a second kinetic barrier generator had been set up. Returning his eyes to the apple he was slowly, methodically peeling and slicing into small pieces, he went on, “You have had a profound effect on the galaxy, John. And many have a vested interest in protecting you, now. Killing you as well, in some cases. Also, a profound effect on Extranet news ratings. I believe the most popular is ‘Humans once again proving that normal laws of physics don’t work on them’. ”

“Hm.” He didn’t understand it, really. All he’d done was what he could to get the job done, and that had never been a warrant for so much then. 

“Was your world so different from ours, in that respect?” The Drell asked, as though the reptilian xeno had read his very thoughts. 

“Yes.” He answered quietly, the alien’s dark eyes turning to him in a silent ask for more, but a promise no to press it if he didn’t decide to go on. Respectful, reserved, even when the ODST knew he wanted to know something. “I would have been commended, issued medical assistance as needed to speed my recovery process, and then been redeployed without more ceremony than strictly needed.”

“Because of the war your people were being forced to prosecute, I assume?” He nodded and the Drell hummed, holding out a peeled slice of apple for him. He took it, putting the off-sweet thing in his mouth and, satisfied he was eating like he needed to, the Drell went on. “What you did involved three of the main political species in this galaxy directly, and the Krogan as well who are now seemingly destined to be integral to the war against the Reapers. Precautions must be taken.”

Precautions like the two soldiers standing by outside, a sign of ‘trust and unity between the two species’ as Shepard had put it when they’d arrived and she’d had to explain, smiling awkwardly all the while. Not to mention the shield generator being doubled up on, and the Drell assassin himself. A favor to the commander, he’d explained when he first started coming bay to keep him company and add an extra layer of protection. 

The head of the security detail Shepard had coordinated and set up for him, since he knew the hospital and surrounding area better than the Krogan Warguard or the Turian security officer she'd brought in to do it. The former was from ‘his clan’s’ warlord’s personal guard, and the other was a soldier from Primarch Victus’ own protection unit. 

“I did what I had to do.” He responded simply, turning away from the alien to look out, on the Citadel. It was a beautiful sight, to him. Shining and megalithic, full of happy people living easier lives than any his people could have reasonably hoped for. They had no idea what the Reapers would do if they came here… “Just my duty. Only my duty.”

“Are you referring to your fight against the Reapers, and in aid of the Krogan, or something to do with the Citadel itself? Or, perhaps, to something in your past?” The alien asked, the wounded trooper just shrugging silently in answer. Humming in amusement, or what the soldier assumed to be, the alien held out another piece for him. “Shepard said that you had changed, somewhat, over the course of the Tuchankan campaign. Did you know that?”

“No.” At least, he didn’t know she’d said it to him. Being briefed on who he was came in tandem with how he’d operate and what he could do, if something happened, so he knew she’d had to explain to him about his past. 

“According to her, you speak more often. Let yourself enjoy things more than you did before.” The alien explained, the ODST turning to look at the pleasantly smiling xeno beside him. Distantly, he wondered how many others had seen that serene face, smiling pleasantly down on them in the night, or across a room in a party. “

And how many that would be the last thing they saw, he had no idea.

“I try.” He finally said, “Or, I’ve been trying, at least.”

“Why?”

“Why do you ask?” He asked, sounding, and frankly feeling, defensive at the question. 

“I want to help you, John. If I am, somehow, able to do so. And in you, I see someone like me. Who labors against their guilt and pain to bring light to the world at large.” The alien answered, holding out another apple slice for him. He waited until the soldier took it, then plucked one for himself and went on, not allowing the ODST to respond. “Do you know what I did, before I was diagnosed with Kepral’s Syndrome? When I served the priests that the Hanar use for their charity to my people?”

“You were an assassin.” To say the very least, he was, though the ODST knew from rumors and facts both about ONI that no one was just an assassin. What else he had done, he wouldn’t ask about, even if he had some ideas about it. 

Wasn’t his business.

“Indeed. I served the priests, as many Drell do. But unlike them I didn’t clean, or grow food, or serve rites. Instead, I eliminated… Problems for them.” What kind was fairly clear to the soldier, laying in bed and fighting to ignore the itch in his shoulder from his mostly healed wound. “I did so for… Many years. I killed many innocent people, and many guilty people. I caused much pain in this galaxy.”

“And?” He prodded gently, not pushing the Drell for answers. Only prompting him for whatever he’d give freely. At least now that he’d piqued his curiosity, the rabid beast that it usually was ever since his training created it.

“And now, I seek to assuage it wherever I can.” The Drell continued, voice quiet and soft. Softer than he normally spoke, black eyes flicking to meet his own. “It is why I volunteered to undergo the war against the Collectors gratis, among other things I did to… Attempt to atone, for what I have done. What I was made to be, by circumstances outside of my control. A sentiment I wager you, with the war you fought in your world and fight now, understand quite clearly.”

And he did, after a moment of thought. The war against the Covenant was fought by every Human, in one way or another, in his galaxy. Whether as a Marine, fighting the Covenant for every inch of dirt and space Human flags flew over, or as a factory worker. Pulling ten or even twelve hour shifts manufacturing weaponry, armor, bullets, medical equipment and whatever else the war effort could possibly need. Now here was beginning to become the same, he could see the bevy of recruitment signs whenever he left Huerta. Begging, pleading, for fighters, support staff, whatever they were willing and able to do to help stave off the Reapers slaughtering them all en mass. 

He wondered when the criminal conscriptions and, later to be sure but eventual nonetheless, normal conscription would follow.

“And why you’re trying to help me.” He grunted, turning to look back out on the Citadel, watching the buzz of cars flitting through its massive honeycomb, dipping up and down to destinations in every direction. “Shepard asked you to, too.”

“She did.” His reflection in the window nodded, a serene smile plastered across his face as always. “As part of our conversation about your point of origin, matter of fact. She didn’t need to, though. I would have been willing to spend time with your regardless of her asking me to.”

“I’ll be leaving soon.”

“A week from now, to my knowledge.” The Drell agree, smiling pleasantly all the while. “I must confess to no small amount of envy for you, regarding that.”

“You want to be out there too.” He could tell. The Drell usually wore his own outfit, leather amd padded cloth, instead of the hospital whites and starched blues he and the other patients wore. “You’re dying any way, regardless of what you do. Why not go out, fight the Reapers, die doing something?”

“I… Will confess that I have, time and again, considered it.” The alien admitted after a moment, serene smile finally slipping into a frown. The soldier turned to him in surprise, the Drell was a beacon of serenity that never faltered. But, with a small shake of his head, the vision of cool serenity was back and he went on, “I cannot, though. I swore to my only son that I would not go looking for battle any longer. I had hoped to pass before the Reapers’ coming, perhaps selfishly.”

“I understand.” He’d done his fighting, and wanted to retire and pass in peace. It was an understandable desire, in every respect, to be done after all that. “I hope you die before the war can ever get to the Citadel.”

“What did you… Did you actually…?” Twice the alien blinked before he grunted a short laugh and then smiled widely in a way he hadn’t before, “You know, John, it is typically quite rude to wish a speedy death on someone. In most circles, it’s actually taken as a bit of an insult, in fact.”

“I know.” But the Drell knew what he’d meant by it, he was certain. Or else, why laugh and smile the way he had?

“Well, I am grateful for your… Well wishes, John.” He nodded, standing and eating the last slice as he did. Behind him, the door opened and a nurse stepped through, the bright, Turian eyes blinking between the two of them unsurely. “I shall head to my exercise class, and you have your therapy to get through as well. I shall be by again tomorrow. Would you like an apple again?”

He nodded and the alien left, padding away without even the scarcest sound. An art so drilled into the alien, he was certain, that he couldn’t not do so any longer. The same way his fingers itched to maintain his weapon, and his skin crawled to be inside his armor again. Not doing it, in both their cases, was an effort and an annoyance in every way.

Enough to, eventually, become impossible. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“One more day.” He thought, leaning against the dividing wall in the patient lounge, automatic fire raking the room. All around the room, chairs had been thrown over as people fled, joined on their sides and backs by patients, visitors and staff either too slow or too unlucky to escape the initial attack. “One more day, and I’d have my armor and my weaponry.”

His Turian bodyguard was on his right, kneeling behind the long desk and occasionally poking out, sending bursts of needle accurate fire slamming into Troopers and Officers as they tried to lean around and fire back, or cross to the safer left side. Where his Krogan bodyguard couldn’t get them, leaning at the front corner of the wall and sending heavy Mattock rounds at an angle that could get at anyone on the right side of the door. And he had a Phalanx, gifted to him by the Turian so he could defend himself, sending single, precision rounds down and into whatever he could.

“They’ll be planning something.” Thane said from the spot beside him, loud enough he could hear and no louder, a Carnifex in his hands from the Krogan. “Some way to get around our defense. Cerberus doesn’t mind losing men, but they’d have left if they weren’t intending to take the hospital.”

“Hm. Acknowledged.” He nodded after a second, leaning out slightly to peer at the broken door, both blown off their hinges and laying in the floor of the lounge area. 

A Trooper stepped into the open, Harrier spraying rounds across the room for three solid seconds before a long Phaeston burst hit his chest, bucking and glancing off heavy armor, and a Mattock round caught him under his neck. It popped out the back of his neck, spraying red along the wall and floor behind the man in long tendrils while his head wobbled loosely, and then he fell back in a limp mass. Another soldier took his place at the corner, this one wielding a massive shield he used to protect himself while his other hand poked out a blocking looking handgun and send showers of buckshot flying towards them. 

“Pull!” Thane warned, stepping around the unarmored ODST and pulling his off arm back, the Turian soldier spraying fire at the opposite corner when Cerberus Troopers tried to suppress his Biotics. The little blue orb sailed low, over the ground, and then hit the shield with a muted thump as the Mass Effect yanked it to the side. 

Two solid rounds punched into the staggering man’s helmet, each jerking his head right and then left, and he fell back. 

“Garulk! Ammo check!” The ODST bellowed out over the din of fire and distant, muted explosions. 

“Ten thermals left, and grenade going out!” The Krogan shouted back, more professional than he’d ever expected of a Krogan. A little black dot sailed through the air and he saw it smack the far wall outside the hospital and bounce away to the right, out of sight. “Detonating!”

The explosion came a second later, as two Cerberus soldiers scrambled across the open doorway. Shrapnel ripped through the air and into their backs, as well as sending a third, dead, one of their fellows trundling across the floor. One fell and didn’t move, blood pooling out of a hundred holes all along his back, legs and arms. The other tried to stand, one leg ruined and one arm matching it, and a belt of rounds from Ciranus sent him sprawling onto his back before he made it anywhere.

“Nine here.” Ciranus called out before he could ask, slamming a clean one home and tossing the hissing, spent one away. It rolled, sputtering and glowing angrily, across the floor and the Turian added, as an afterthought, “And two grenades as well, since it seems we’re using those.”

“Movement.” The Krogan called in warning, as the next Cerberus assault made itself known. 

Moving in a wave, their rounds glancing off heavily armored shields, a dozen Guardian-class Cerberus soldiers moved into a phalanx formation just on the other side of the door. He could see the occasional red lights from the helmeted men and women, peeking out through the slots in the shield they used to see, but they ducked back down before Thane or Garulk could draw a line on them, try for lucky shots through the gaps.

“I can see movement. Shifting, behind the Guardians. They’re planning something, but what it could be is the question.” Thane murmured, black orbs looking to him with the words. “And I don’t think they intend to just maintain formation there, either.”

The ODST followed his nod, leaning further out than he’d dared to for several minutes yet, as much to get a better view as to see if they’d try and shoot at him. None bothered to, probably for fear of reprisals breaking their formation, and the extra view allowed him to see several bodies shifting around behind the wall of armored shields. Troopers, he saw when one stood a bit too tall and a short burst of automatic Phaeston fire tore through his helmet, a sign of the Turian special operations soldier’s tender affections. 

And those hawkish, Turian eyes, of course. Those couldn’t ever be discounted when it came to Turians. In the back of his mind, in the way a distracted mind wandered dumbly due to the adrenaline coursing through his brain, he wondered if thinking like that would be considered pragmatism or racism. He didn’t care either way, really, and wouldn’t be able to explain the thought if anyone somehow knew of it and bothered to ask. 

But they didn’t see the shimmer in the air over the shield line, there for a moment and suddenly gone. Turians hadn’t fought for years against a military that made common use of active camouflage assault units, only identifiable when they ended a man’s life. They hadn’t had that paranoia ingrained in them, the kind that had a soldier hesitating and pointing his rifle at anything that looked mildly odd around them. 

“Active camo.” He shouted, knowing it when he saw it, his Phalanx barking a round at one of the lithe shapes that had been slowly, meticulously crawling along the floor. The round struck and tore through the woman’s shoulder, sending her sprawling with an electrified, warbling shout of pain. “Look for shimmers in the air. Watch for biotics. Garulk, you have-”

“Raagh!” He saw the fist that tore through the wall where the Krogan had taken cover a second before the camouflage flicked, giving way to the crumpled, smeared form of the Human woman that had tried to attack him. An invisible something smacked into the Cerberus shieldline, rolling across it and smearing brought blood along the metal as the woman flickered into visibility, and the Krogan roared, “Come out where we can see you, you invisible cowards!”

A long bursts for Cirunas tore into the bleeding, shocked woman John had shot, tearing open her chest and sending her sprawling over the ruined, bullet riddled lounge chairs on the right side of the room. The last Phantom charged them, hand raised to ward off the bullets flying towards her, deflecting them to either side instead of stopping them outright. In her other hand her sword glinted light as she leapt onto the long desk and ran towards him directly, Cirunas standing and shoving him back with one hand, other raising his Phaeston and spraying wild fire at the woman. 

The rounds did nothing and she lunged, sword singing through the air for the Turian’s helmet while the ODST scrambled back, fighting to recover from the shove and bring his gun to bear. Too slow to save the man, he knew, and too low power to do anything even if he could get his little laser sight to line up on her chest. 

Thane, though, was more than fast enough, sending a relatively gentle Biotic shove into the Turian and the ODST both, tossing them safely behind the wall and out of the line of fire from the Troopers who rose to support their fellows. With his Carnifex, he smashed her arm aside and spun on one heel, other singing through the air and forcing her to jump, cartwheeling over his head to evade. 

She landed on Thane’s other side, the Drell turning and barking a round at her she deflected easily enough. Turning her head, red eyes locked onto his blue, and she lunged at him with her sword pulled back in a thrust aimed for his heart. Another Biotic attack caught her, though, this time wreathed around Thane’s fist, and hurled her into the hallway that led into the research area. The Drell was swift to capitalize, and ruthless in doing so, grabbing each of her wrists and pinning them overhead, staring into her face in an almost loving, pitying way.

Then driving a scalpel through both wrists and into the wall beyond, drawing a pained, warbling scream from her that the Drell mercifully cut off with a Biotic infused fist that crushed her throat. She hacked wetly, choking, and the Drell yanked the blade free, cradling the woman and laying her gingerly on the floor. Weakly, she tried to raise her hands towards the watching Human, Cirunas laying down fire on the Cerberus soldiers, but Thane pinned it gently down with his own hand. 

Kneeling, the Drell murmured words he barely heard, somehow carried over the din of fighting around him, “Kalahira, Mistress of Inscrutable Depths, I ask forgiveness. Forgiveness for this one’s sins, committed against her will in a body taken by the will of another.”

One hand peppering occasional hawkish shots towards the battle line, the other held the woman’s ruined hand and, somehow, she didn’t summon her Biotics against him. Instead, she passed in peace, choking one last breath and going still. That hand then took her sword, scattered in his attack on her, and lifted it in his dominant hand as he rose in safety, covered by the wall and Cirunas’ suppressing fire. 

Again, he prayed while the Human soldier watched, eyes trapped as though mesmerized by something. “Amonkira, guide this one’s blade to the hearts of his foes. Kalahira, I beg that you accept their souls as they depart their shells, and take them across your great sea. They are beset by sin not of their own making, and deserve cleansing they can no longer seek on their own.”

Then the man’s eyes open, black depths meeting his. Then, he smiled, thin and solemn, and simply said, “Prayers for the wicked must never be neglected, even in the midst of battle. Now, pardon me, but I must see to our guests. Their suffering is due for the gentlest end I might manage. With your leave, of course, as my… Contractor, by proxy or not.”

“Go.” He nodded, the Drell returning the gesture and moving.

Like liquid, the alien slipped around the corner of the desk, sending another Pull towards the chieldline, yanking the centerman’s shield free. Two rounds punched by before the metal had even cleared, the alien’s straight arm sending one apiece into the fronts of each helmet. Before they’d even fallen he dove, spinning on one shoulder fire raked through the air around him and sparked off his Barrier, before a foot slammed into an overturned table, wreathing it in Biotics and sending it floating into the air. He stood behind it to reload, Biotic power turning the simple wood and steel into an insurmountable shield.

Then he was moving again, a heavy pistol round shearing through a Guradian’s knee as they tried to adjust their formation. The Human toppled to the side, screaming for a moment before a second round punched through his throat. A long burst of Phaeston fire tore through the chest of the Trooper behind him, but Thane was moving on regardless, leaping over lines of fire scything towards him, turning in the air and hurling the sword with biotic power wreathed around it. 

It hit the next man to the right’s shield and screeched through, into the man beyond and then the man behind him, carrying both to the wall beyond and pinning them there. A grenade skittered across the floor, barely a foot in front of the now clearly desperate Cerberus line, and a scaly foot batted it back. The explosion didn’t pierce the two shields remaining on the right, but the shrapnel did punch into the closest Trooper and Guardian on the left, both sagging, dead and bleeding while those on the right stumbled back under the force and tried to recover. They’d never get the chance, though.

The Drell was among them now, Carnifex snapping out to press against necks and spray arterial red along the walls, other grabbing wrists and wrenching arms with Biotic power. Two Troopers on the left abandoned the long since broken formation, standing fully and turning to spray rounds into the wild melee. Most bit into their unshielded fellows, though he saw sparks of Biotic power where they met their mark, before his Phalanx punched a hole in one’s head and Ciruas carved through the other’s and into the wall beyond. 

With an eager roar, Garulk joined the Drell, slamming into the last two Guardian’s shields and wrenching one aside, using it like a cudgel to crush the other. The last Trooper tried to run, then, heavy Mattock rounds tearing into his back before he’d even turned. The Drell turned, hurling Biotics out into the halls where the ODST couldn’t see before his Carnifex joined him, Garulk firing into the unknown on the left, and John stood clear of his cover. 

“Cirunas, we’re moving to support.” He snapped sharply, shoving a new thermal clip into his Phalanx. “I have the right, you take the left. Confirm?”

“Confirmed, supporting left side, Sir.” The Turian snapped sharply, the Human grimacing at the absolute obedience of the technically higher ranking alien. Without another word, they moved towards the door to finish the fight.

If only for the moment. 

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In the quiet that came after, nurses, doctors, and soldiers interned in the complex above who could move enough to help descended. Under the ODST’s command, all the chairs were piled neatly in a small curve, from the reception desk around to the other side of the hallway leading back into the research area. About five feet tall, it would serve wall enough for cover, the Guardian shields leaned on the other side to prevent rounds punching through into the defenders. 

“You have PTSD symptomology, according to Doctor Michel, Ma’am.” He said simply to the Asari woman, reaching out to lay a hand on the Maiden’s shoulder while the Drell assassin sat on a chair, resting and watching him. “If you want to help, use your Biotics to provide barriers for the scavenging teams.”

“But-”

“You’ll save as many lives covering our ammo policing and ferrying the wounded back, out of the fight, as you will with a gun on my barricade.” He cut in simply, already hating the ‘privileges’ of command. Turning, he waved over an exhausted, trembling Human nurse, the woman pushing the trolley she brought with her as much as leaning on it. Taking a bottle of water, he spoke to her now, “I need you to find the doctor in charge of you all and assign Aeian here,” he waved a hand at the small Asari, “to support duty.”

“Y-Yes, Sir.” She nodded, walking on shaky legs to lay a hand on the suddenly more anxious looking Asari. The Human smiled, then, and withdrew her hand, “I-I know what happened on your mission. A-And I know how you feel, but… But you can help us here. Make up for it.”

Silent, the Asari nodded and let the Human lead her back down the hallway, anxious over something but compliant nonetheless. Exhausted, the Trooper collapsed to the floor, leaning against a Cerberus shield and taking a long draught of his water, eyeing one of the swords laid along the barricade for the inevitable last, desperate melee. They’d be cut to pieces, when it came down to that, and he knew it. Thane joined him and he offered it to the alien, who took only a small sip before returning it. 

“You are doing well, Lieutenant Commander.” The alien finally said, the Human humming a sound that was neither agreement or argument. He was doing his best, and it would have to do. That was all he could hope to do. “This place would have fallen already, were it not for your efforts.”

“You could have protected them.” He grunted dismissively, taking a ration bar a passing nurse - armed with a Harrier now, with whatever pieces of Cerberus armor could be ripped off the bodies - offered him. “I knew you were a marksman, but that was… Impressive.”

“Your skills are not lacking either.” The Alien hummed, taking half the bar when the Human held it out, cramming it into his mouth desperately and then eyeing the other piece with reluctant guilt. Biotics used calories, and he’d employed liberal usage of it, so he tore off a moderate bite and handed the rest to him. “Forgive me, but Biotics…”

“I know.”

“Thank you.” The alien murmured, followed by a quiet prayer over the food and then him eating it. “I regret having to employ my skills again… I’d hoped to end my life in a more peaceful manner than this. Still, I do not regret protecting these innocent souls.”

“Hm.” Neither did he, really, and with a small spark of guilt he realized he was grateful in a twisted way for this. A chance to fight again, to do rather than lay up and wait. He pushed it aside when he saw a nurse rushing towards them, lugging around a blocky communicator the research scientists had cobbled together for them. Rising he asked quietly, “What is it?”

“C-Sec.” The man answered breathlessly, no doubt having run all the way, holding out the wire-covered headset to him. He took it, ordering with a hand for the man to sit down.

“Lieutenant Commander James Doe, Systems Alliance… Military.” He didn’t know if he was a Marine or a naval staff attendant, he only realized now. Something to ask about later, instead the soldier asking, “Who is this?”

“Commander Armando-Owen Bailey, Citadel Security.” The man answered, voice tired but sharp and military regardless. “Did you just say John Doe?”

“Yes.” He answered simply, anticipating jokes he had grown used to over the years. 

“You’re that crazy s.o.b. that jumped out of a ship in a little metal pod, right?” He grunted an answer, surprised at the man not mentioning his name’s implications and answering that he was, and the man went on. “Absolutely insane, every last one of you… I’m forwarding a connection to Commander Shepard, your C.O., she’s on the Citadel and headed to the Council chambers to try and evac them.”

“Where are you?” He asked, putting a pin in the fact that the Council were still on station. 

“Headquarters. Shepard helped us take it back, and I’m rallying nearby forces from… Hell, from anyone, really. Got Turians, Asari, Salarians even with the shit going on there, even Krogan soldiers showin’ up.” The man answered, filling the ODST with tepid hope that so many were rallying. Bodies with guns that could fight. “Where are you? My terminal shows… Huerta? That right?”

“Affirmative.” He answered quietly, “I’m defending with my…” He gave his two bodyguards a glance, each watching the door and him both like hawks, and finally answered, “Fireteam. We have nurses arming themselves as support, too, and the upper floors have been evacuated. Most are in the inpatient wing.”

“Need support?”

“Please.” And he hoped that his desperation was understandable. “I’m arming nurses for combat, we’re low on ammo, and we are almost out of food and water.”

“I’ll do what I can, I promise.”

“Tell the Krogan that John Doe-Garl is here and needs help.” He ordered simply, not above using his influence over the Krogan to save civilians if it was warranted. Curious, and afraid of the line being monitored, he asked, “How are we speaking? Our communicators are full of static.”

“Normandy's QEC, and the Krogan I had heard you himself and stormed off. I hear ‘em shouting and roarin’ right now, so you either have help or a mob comin’.” The Commander answered simply, followed quickly by, “Handing you off to Shepard, I have my own shit to handle. Stay solid out there, Huerta.”

“Understood.” He said, seizing the few seconds he had before Shepard would join the line to turn and shout back, “C-Sec Headquarters is ours, and support is being sent to relieve us. Krogan support, too.” 

The cheers that came were like a roar, and he couldn’t help but smile at them. Their first good news in an hour, now, since the fighting had started. 

“John is that you?” He heard the woman’s voice come over the line, turning away and smiling thinly at the familiar tone. 

“Yes. I’m at Huerta, holding a defensive-”

“I know you’re holding a defensive line, you stubborn, suicidal, injured jackass. And the only reason I’m not going to kick your ass is because I’m going to be pinning another medal to it for this, and you’re basically healed anyways.” He knew her anger wasn’t directed at him, moreso at the Cerberus attack that had forced him into fighting earlier than planned. He heard her take a deep breath, forcing the calm of combat operations down over her, and she asked, “Krogan support is on the way, do you need me to send any extra?”

“Negative, Ma’am.” The Council took priority, they both knew that, and they both knew that if he did ask for it she’d not be able to come herself. Only ask others for more from places that couldn’t spare it. “Support is needed elsewhere more, and this seems a secondary or tertiary target.”

“I understand.” She sighed, sounding regretful as she asked, “Can you offer any?”

“Clarify.”

“The Council is mostly safe, but the Salarian one isn’t with them.” She answered simply, the ODST understanding before she went on what she needed. Thane, next to him, grimaced in the same understanding as him, able to hear the conversation well enough. “You’re closer than we are, to where he is, and I need eyes on him as soon as possible. And on the space between him and you, in case he’s forced to run.”

“I can’t-”

“I’m on my way.” Thane interrupted, the ODST’s eyes snapping to his. The alien smiled politely and contentedly, head bowing to him. “I can make it, and am best suited for this manner of operation.”

“Then I will come too.” 

“You are unarmored and unshielded, and needed here besides.” The alien dismissed easily, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms, limbering up. “I have my Biotics and my combat gear here, light enough to pass security. And, as you said,” the alien’s smile widened slightly, eyes blinking at him, “it is my duty. Only my duty.”

“Be careful, Thane.” Shepard said quietly, voice laced in odd emotion. Something the ODST couldn’t place, but mixed with what he could. Pain, regret and anxiety. “Rendezvous at these coordinates, I’m moving out with my team.”

She cut the line and Thane turned, taking two ration bars and cramming them into his mouth, then grabbing spare thermal clips and three scalpels, talking as he did so, “You and I are similar, John.” He said simply, turning to him and smiling, holding out a leather book to him, “And so I trust you to carry this for me. To my son, should the worst happen.”

“I understand.” He answered, taking it and bowing his head. He didn’t bother with the platitudes of not needing to give it to the young man, he knew the lie that would be. Knew Thane knew it too, and knew that they had no choice. The Salarian Councilor could prevent a war, and neither would allow their personal concerns to outweigh that. 

Instead, he said, “Good luck.”

Laying a hand on the ODST’s shoulder, Thane smiled, eyes closing, “Amonkira, Lord of Hunters, watch over this man as he endeavors to strike at those who strive against him. Arashu, cloak him in your embrace, and protect him so as to allow him to protect those he shields with flesh and blood and bone. And Kalahira, should the worst come to pass, embrace this man as you would your children.”

He’d never been one for spirituality but, as the Drell spoke, he allowed his eyes to close and, as though on impulse, whispered an old, odd feeling, ‘Amen’. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

An hour later, and the fighting was over, Cerberus forces having been drive off the station or killed entirely. Half an hour after that, he saw Thane again, being wheeled in by doctors, lying on a gurney with his arm laid over a blood-stained chest. 

He watched the doctors stitch him up, saw their panic as this man - their savior - begin to wane. His vitals steadily falling, and never climbing, no matter what they did. 

He watched the man’s son, Kolyat, come to him and clutch his hand and shoulder, shedding tears until the man spoke to him. The boy emerged, looked to him, and he held the book out for him. Then the young Drell returned to his father’s side, opened it, and began reading. 

He watched the desperate donation of Kolyat’s blood, which only stabilised the Drell for a short time before the sun fell. With it, as though precipitated by it, the Citadel descended into the dark, its simulated night-time taking over. 

Shepard arrived an hour later, and after she knew he was safe and uninjured beyond the scrapes and bruises of a fight, she joined the two Drell. Her back to his, she couldn’t see his face and he couldn’t see hers. But he saw her hand grab his, holding it up so she could press the scaly appendage to her forehead, and saw her shoulders shudder the telltale shudder of tears being shed. 

Commander Shepard, immortal hero of the Citadel, was crying. 

Thet steadied, the Drell speaking words he could not hear to her, and she glanced to him. Then she turned, two pairs of black eyes and one set of hard, glassy green looking to him, watching them from outside. Anxious, he turned to leave, but made it no more than two steps before he heard Shepard call out to him, “He wants you to come inside. He… There isn’t much time left. Kepral’s is taking him.”

He hesitated a moment before turning and following her in, looking at the powerful Drell laying in his bed, smiling a pleasant welcome to him. Weak and strained, he began to pray once more, “Kalahira, Mistress of Inscrutable Depths, I ask f-for-” The words died in a wet sounding coughing fit, the ODST taking an unsure step towards him to help and Shepard clutching his right hand like a lifeline. 

His son continued, starting over for him, reading from the Drell’s personal book as though he’d practiced it, “Kalahira, Mistress of Inscrutable Depths, I ask forgiveness. Kalahira, whose waves wear down stone and sand. Kalahira, was the sins from this one, and set her on the distant shore of the infinite spirit.”

He watched as Thane turned away, gazing out at the infinite sea of blackness beyond the Citadel. Saw the stillness overtake him that spoke of the assassin’s passing, and knew that both others had to. Shepard’s head fell into her hand, other holding the alien’s, and Kolyat choked for a moment as he continued, “Kalahira, this one’s spirit is pure, but beset by wickedness and contention. Guide this one to where the traveler never tires, the lover never leaves, the hungry never starve. Guide this one, Kalahira, and she will be a companion to you as she was to me.”

“Kolyat…” She asked weakly, the alien looking to her and meeting eyes he couldn’t see but knew to be red and glassy. “Why the last verse say she?”

“The prayer was not for him, Commander.” He answered gently, moving to her side of the bed as though he were leaving, laying a hand on her shoulder and smiling down at her, “He has already asked forgiveness for the lives he has taken. His wish was for you.”

“Oh, God…” Her voice cracked and the alien stepped by him, nodding back out the door for him to follow. 

He did.

“He was your friend, and told me, while I gave blood to him, that he saw of himself so much in you as he did with Shepard.” The alien said quietly, grimacing mournfully and adding, “Regretfully, he said, he had not the time to come to know you. And asked me to ask you… Would you allow him, through me, to ask Kalahira to forgive you for your sins?”

Quietly, the ODST nodded, “Please.”

The alien closed his eyes and so did John, for reasons he couldn’t place. “Kalahira, Mistress of Inscrutable Depths, I ask forgiveness.” The Trooper felt a hand on his shoulder and had to fight the urge to look, to reach for a weapon. Kolyat seemed to have anticipated this, waiting until he was certain he was ready and calm to continue, “Kalahira, whose waves wash all of their misdeeds like words on sand, wash this one. Oh, Kalahira, this one’s heart is beset by pain and fear, wickedness and contention, anger and sorrow. Guide this one, great Kalahira, to where the warrior never falters, the lover never leaves, the friend never falls, and the blood never flows to paint the sands and water in impure shades.”

“Guide this one, Kalahira, into the arms of companions yet lost and happiness yet unknown.” He finished, “Guide this one, and make of him a companion for you, oh Great Mistress of the Inscrutable Seas. And wash him, of his sins and paini, so that he might come to you as clean and eased.”

Done, he felt the man’s hand leave his shoulder and met his eyes, chest feeling… Tight in a way he didn’t understand. With a jerk of his head, Kolyat asked, “Would you comfort her, please? I have rites to perform, to those lost under whatever banner flew over them.”

He nodded and let the young Drell priest leave, taking a deep breath and looking to the ceiling, blinking twice and swallowing the pain he felt as he always had. Nodding finally, he stepped to the door and in, Shepard turning to look at him with puffy cheeks and red eyes like he’d never imagined seeing on her. 

“First Mordin, on Tuchanka… Now Thane and Ash.” She choked, shaking her head and looking around the room for answers, escape, or something to kill to make the pain stop. The way soldiers grieved, or the way she did, he wasn’t sure. “John, this is- I can’t- I’m not strong enough.”

“You are.” He assured her, pulling a seat to her side and wrapping a hug around her that she returned too eagerly, augmented body bruising him in her hug. “You are Urdnot Jane Shepard, savior of the Citadel. You’re strong enough to get through this and do your duty in ending Cerberus.”

Duty… But not only duty, he knew, letting the woman cry. 

Revenge.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

So I don’t think I ever named whether it was Kaidan or Ashley who was live. Or, you know, used to be alive at least. Note going forward, not every solution in this is going to be the best outcome possible. 

I also realized early on I made a miiiiiiinor mistake in putting the quiet Rookie in a chapter to mainline with Thane. One is always quiet, the other is serene and quiet, so… Yeah. And I hope the Thane and Rookie relationship made sense and was good for what I was going for. 

Had to watch the Thane death scene thrice writing this.

Gonna go cry now, kay? Thanks. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Maseta :

Yeah, it’s just writing a shitstorm that is coherent is… Fun. So I get anxious.

But hey, better anxiety than arrogance.

Mordin Fan (Guest) :

What canon happens in this route. Mordin dies.

Kaiya Azure :

That’s a technicality, though you’re right. This was adoption outright. Similar, but slightly different. 

Swimfeared :

Yes, but the real question in the middle of this new shitfest is ‘Who in the Union did this, and are they all to be punished’?

Funkyshnelpu Jr :

And also when your Commander is in need of a second officer, and you’re there. 

Predator 1701 :

Genuinely considered name dropping it, never did it though. One of the Krogan warlords’ names was initially going to actually be Romm el’Tomkah, though. I scrapped it for the name not fitting conventions right. 

Kifo Sotri :

No hobbling, only skill, acrobatics, and DEEP EMOTIONAL TRAUMA. 

Rookie Fan (Guest) : 

Glad to be so enjoyed~!


	18. Chapter 18

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Vega swung a hammering blow in from his left, the smaller, lither ODST blocking with his arm and bracing with the other, a hand gripping his forearm for the brief moment his arm shook with the force of the blow. He let the shockwave flow down his arm and into his chest and pivoted, turning on a heel and sliding into the man’s guard, using the arm that had braced the defending one to now lash out in a hard jab, straight into the man’s sternum. Vega coughed as the air left his lungs and the smaller soldier followed him, turning and punching into the juncture in his arm between his bicep and tricep, sending the arm spasming to the side while the large, hispanic man hissed and rattled off curses in his native tongue. 

Sliding closer, he jackhammered blows into the man's stomach until, finally, Vega threw up a hand and grunted, “I give! Maldito infierno, Rook.” He coughed, the small man bouncing away on his heels and rolling his shoulder where he’d caught the large man’s punch, “You sure you were in hospital?”

“Yes.” And he missed it, in a strange way. Missed Thane more like, the daily conversations had been something to look forward to, and he never pushed him. 

“Hey, amigo, you okay?” The large man asked, good arm landing on his shoulder softly, keeping distance between the two of them warily. To keep from offending him, he knew without asking. Garrus and Vega both did it. “Zoned out on me, Novato. What’s stuck up in your head?”

“Nothing.” He lied before he saw the man’s brow climb disbelievingly and, knowing that Shepard would come drag it out of him if he didn’t, he amended, “Thane. Cerberus. The attack on the Citadel.”

“Yeah, guess that would be on your mind… Come on, let’s get some water, yeah?” The large man sighed, coughing again before shaking off the spar and turning, leading the smaller man across the engineering bay towards Vega’s little, entirely self claimed he was sure, private area. 

It was almost a proper room, now, with supply crates stacked high on fours sides, a ‘door’ facing into the engineering bay. A tarp stretched overhead in a weak facsimile of a roof and, inside, the room was laid out almost like an apartment. A small fridge in the far left corner, a cot opposite it, and a worktable just to the side of the door covered in tools and a disassembled Avenger beside an equally piece meal Predator, the external plating of both covered in scuffs, scrapes and general light damage a service rifle had to sustain.

“You ever hear of a place called Fehl Prime?” The large Marine asked, pitching the man a bottle of chilled water when the Trooper sat on the workbench stool. The ODST shook his head no, almost wondering if it had been rhetorical since he was a stranger in this world, but humoring him regardless. “Little colony, way out there, where it’s… Well, not so safe to live. Long story short, me and mine got sent in to stop a Blood Pack raid. Got told to standby, and were there when Collectors showed up aiming to harvest the colony. It… Didn't go so well, you can probably guess.”

“What happened?” He was curious, now. Egged on by the man mentioning it, curiosity goaded into him asking even when he knew he shouldn't.

“The Collectors had almost all the colony onboard a ship, and the last bit of my squad, plus a mercenary we captured who was on-side, too. I had information on their ship, defenses, weapons, that sort of stuff.” He shrugged, voice low, and finished, “Had to pick between getting the critical information out or… Or them. I picked the info.”

“I see.”

“Yeah, so… What I mean is, by telling you that, is that I get it. Losing team members, I mean.” He shrugged and the ODST blinked at him, the man smiling bitterly and asking him, “Doesn’t matter how long you know ‘em, you know? Still hurts like a hijo de puta losing your teammates.” 

“I… It does, yes.” Much as he was used to it, the echoing pangs still tugged at him, from time to time. He took a drink of water and, in a low voice, spoke, “I remember my first squad, when I got out of boot with them. Got sent to a farming world, New Ontario, for a combat drop against insurrectionists.”

“Since I told you ‘bout my mission that went to hell, gonna guess yours didn’t do any better?” He nodded at the larger Marine’s question and Vega murmured a curse, a small shake of his head all he offered in sympathy. Out of a sort of respect, he figured, and the man asked, “So what happened?”

“Half the squad burnt up on reentry, in the drop.” A norm for rookie squads dropping, he knew. They hadn’t learned to feel the tremors yet, to pilot themselves freehand like other ODSTs, searching and feeling through the turbulence for the softer patches and veins that weaved together from space to ground. “We landed scattered, spread out over three and a half kilometers of woodland around the objective. Insurrectionist - rebels, terrorists,” he added, for Vega’s benefit, “Radioed in for support and orders, Command ordered us to assault the base regardless of casualties.”

“One squad?” Vega asked, sounding stunned and looking it as well, mouth agape slightly. John nodded and the large soldier spat and sneered, “That’s ridiculous… How the fuck are three or four guys, all green as gills, s’posed to take out a base scattered like that?”

“That’s the job.” He shrugged, unsure of what else to say. 

“No, that’s suicide.” He nodded at that, and Vega sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose against what he was sure was a headache, or more likely aggravation, building. “I think I can guess the rest of the story…”

“Perhaps.” It was fairly obvious, considering he was alive and they- No. He couldn't think about it, shook the memories off as soon as they threatened to surface. Like water he’d been treading, and he knew if he stopped it would swallow him and he’d drown in it. Helpless, alne, drifting in the blackness of space like she had- “Not the time for that…”

“What?” Vega asked, looking confused and making John freeze up, cap to the bottle only half screwed in surprise. He’d spoken out loud, then? That wasn’t like him… Again, vega looked him up and down and asked, “Jesus Cristo, hombe, are you okay? You look… Pale.”

“I’m fine.” He lied, knowing he wasn’t and hiding that unsurety in a long drink of the cold water. When he was finished, he shook his head to clear it of the memories, both his and Shepard’s, and finished his story, rattling off a mirror of his military report of so long ago, seated in a cold, dark room and looking at a displeased ship captain and his division commander. “We marched to the base and attempted to infiltrate it. Midway through the operation Private Zellig was compromised and attacked and, against orders, Private Sanders moved to assist her.”

“I circled around the base’s exterior, using the rooftops to hide, while they assaulted the two Troopers.” He continued, Vega looking at him solemnly and simply. Like he knew the ending to the story before he even said it. “I located the Insurrectionist commander, executed her, and shut down the anti aircraft batteries situated in the mountains around the base. Allied reinforcements arrived twenty minutes later to occupy the base and subdue survive enemy infantry.”

“Too late for your squad, though.” Vega guessed, the ‘Trooper nodding simply. “And you still made drops after that?”

“Of course.” It was his job, his duty, after all. 

“That was your first team, so…” Vega swallowed, anxious, and then asked, “What number is this team?”

“It’s…” He had to pause, to count them up, and think about the question for a second. “The fifteenth, I think.”

“Santo infierno… Hang on, got incoming.” The man shook his head, raising his wrist, Omni-Tool sparking to life as he did. For a few minutes, the man skimmed the message and then he went on, “Commander needs you in uniform or armor, whichever you like, for a meeting with the Council. Your armor’s been patched up for a while now, in a box in your quarters. Guess she knows which you’re gonna pick, adding that on...”

He nodded and stood, giving the larger man a small nod, “Thank you for the talk. And the spar.”

Then he was gone, headed to his quarters to get his armor on for the meeting ahead of him, while the other man called after him that it ‘wasn’t a problem’. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

His helmet clicked into place over his head and he sighed contentedly, eyes closed while he enjoyed the sweet feeling of its weight on his head. The familiar drag of the armor when he turned his head right and left, checking to make sure the sections around the neck weren’t hindering him in anyway, was an odd comfort to him. When he was satisfied by that he alternated stretching each arm and leg, then bending, kneeling, and miming drawing his knife, rifle and sidearm repeatedly until he was equally satisfied by that as being adequate. Finally he geban running a systems check, booting up and shutting down each system several times in turn to make sure that if something happened, he wouldn’t stuck in the field without shields.

He was getting used to having a shield, he noted casually with a blink as the system flicked on and his barrier snapped up, sparking along his body for a brief second before fading from sight. Whether it was good or bad that he had so adapted to the shields, and having them, he wasn’t sure. Though he’d done fine in Huerta, so he felt safe in saying it wasn’t a hindrance.

Not that he wanted to dwell on Huerta, or anything related, right now.

“I’m almost ready, Ma’am.” He said quietly when the woman joined him, wearing her armor sans helmet and smiling pleasantly while he went over last checks. “Making sure my armor is in good shape.”

“Wrex put his best technicians on it, once he got wind of the repairs. Toss in maintenance offers of our own, and Garrus of course, I wouldn’t be surprised if your armor is running better than mine.” She responded, nodding at the soldier when he turned to look at her. He blinked once and shrugged, turning back to running checks on his Harrier absently. “How are you feeling?”

“Mildly annoyed.” He responded frankly, pointing one hand at his helmet, where his rank had been emblazoned in dull gold over the visor, small enough to not be too visible but still clear in person. Then he pointed to his chest, where a symbol had been painted in dull red, three thin claw marks over what looked like a hammer, “I didn’t approve the changes.”

“One’s your rank, and is required at a certain point so your approval wasn’t needed. Whether you’re a specialist unit or not, you do have some regs you have to follow, you know..” She pointed out strictly, sliding from ‘Mama’ to ‘Commander’ in less than a second and then, like flicking a switch, cracking a grin and sliding back to ‘Mama’ inside another second. “The symbol is… Honorific and obviously Krogan. I approved it in your stead, to improve Krogan relations.” 

“What is it?” Curiorsity, once again, had his mouth moving ahead of his brain. Something he’d need to work on fixing, he realized with a small frown. 

“The claws,” she started, stepping close and pointing at them, “Represent Humans, Turians and Krogans each in equal measure, and the hammer signifies the Thresher Hammers you used to summon Kalros. Your honorific symbol, apparently, and the one your clan has adopted along with you.”

“I see.” It was necessary, then, for relations to continue being improved. In all likelihood him having the symbol would do little aside from earn him recognition, but refusing - or removing it - might be an insult and divide their alliance. Plus it was his symbol, and his clan’s, and he felt… Oddly comforted by those two facts. “I rescind my complaints then, Ma’am. I appreciate the importance of the demarcations.”

“Figured you would.” She shrugged, stepping back and leaning against the wall between the two stairways to either side of engineering. “How are you doing, by the way? With… Everything that’s happened, I mean?”

“I’m fine.” He said, sharper than he intended, before he sighed. Then he leaned on the worktable in front of him, held up by his fingers more than anything else, and added, “I’m alright. Just stressed. Are… Are you okay?”

“I am now. Wasn’t a couple days ago, but… But you helped there. Kolyat, too, so...” She shrugged and, in that moment, seemed to age again. Decades in a second, flowing down her like water from a showerhead, and causing her to sag in exhaustion and her eyes to soften with grief. “Thane and I were close. Closer than I’d like to admit, and I knew he was going to die, soon, but…”

“Not like that.” He offered gently, watching her from the corner of his eye but keeping his gaze more or less averted. That way, she could be open without feeling like she was dumping it onto him directly.

“Yeah.” She murmured in response, looking at his Harrier sadly for a long moment. Likely because of the weapon’s origin, he guessed after a second. “Not like that… I imagined holding his hand in Huerta as the end came on, and he fell asleep. Not him being spit on a sword by some Cerberus bastard who thinks he’s a goddamn ninja or… Whatever the hell Leng thinks he is.”

“Leng?” He asked, finally turning to look at her. The change cascaded over her when he turned to face her, years melting away under a facade of cold steel she always kept up. A way to hide, he could tell, from everything. Prying eyes included. “He the one that killed Thane?”

“Kai Leng.” Shepard amended for him, and the ODST’s eyes narrowed behind his visor as the name registered in his head. Saved, almost, like a slot in a memory storage device he’d had growing up. “Assassin for Cerberus, been that way for a while. Hackett said he knows of him petty damn intimately, and he’d forward some files. Hopefully help me put the bastard in the ground for what he did.”

“Or into a sun.” He added dryly, the woman blinking at him a few times before leaning to the side, head at an angle as she stared at him. Anxious, he asked, “What?”

“That was… Did you just make a fucking joke?” He shrugged and she grinned, pushing off the wall while he sighed and took a step back from her warily. It didn’t matter of course, she just took another step before she wrapped her arms around him and, courtesy of her augmented abilities, hugged him off his feet and into the air. “You’re making jokes now! Oh, Kalahira, you’re making progress!”

“Kalahira?” He coughed out after a second, wrestling a hand free and resting it on her shoulder in his struggle for freedom. Slowly, she set him down, and he added, “That’s one of Thane’s gods, isn’t it?”

“Not… Not just his.” She answered, letting him stagger away and turning, on arm across her chest to hold the other while her fingers pinched the bridge of her nose. “I… Told you we were close, but it wasn’t, like, sexual or romantic, it was… He helped me get over my death. Get past it.”

“You mentioned you were spiritual.” In passing, way back when, in that meeting with the Primarch and Wrex when she needed him to open up to them. 

When they’d wanted to bounce ideas off him from his world, see what they could find that would be useful. And she’d been fast to backtrack from it, and now that made sense, since it was rather odd for a Human Alliance soldier to follow an alien faith. She was the pride of Humanity, after all… Who knew how people would react to the pride of Humanity following a Drell religion, even in passing and after everything she’d been through?

“He and I talked a lot, he prayed a lot. For the mercs we were fighting, for the people that got caught up in it all… For me.” She choked the last out through grit teeth and then shook herself and sighed, “After a while, I started asking questions. Debating, I guess, really. And that turned to me reading, and…”

“It just clicked.” He offered, watching the small smile tug at her lips at the suggestion. Barely anything at all, but enough for him to know he was on the money.

“It just clicked... Yeah.” She echoed with a tight, stiff nod and then a sigh. Without looking at him, she waved a hand at the floor and started to rambled, “L-Look, I’m not about it, all the time. I just read and stuff, in my quarters. I-I won’t mention it to you or-or try and push you, told you that before, but I-”

“I get it.” He shrugged, now understanding why the prayers and names had moved him so. Shepard’s memories, almost all subconscious and below his recollection, had done it. Affected him in different way than he’d been looking for, because of what he couldn’t have known about. 

“You… Get it?” She asked, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“I remember suffocating in the vacuum of space, feeling my armor melt around me as I fell into the planet beyond and… Watching my home fall apart, lanced by energy weapons and sent spiraling around me.” He added, the woman grimacing at those memories. Enough he felt, and soundly dismisses, a pang of guilt for having brought it up. Stepping past her, he laid a hand on her shoulder and added, “Won’t breathe a word, and I don’t judge you. But we have work to do, Ma’am.”

“You’re right.” She nodded after a second, grabbing his Harrier and handing it to him as it collapsed. With another curt, sharp nod and a sure, comfortable smile she asked simply, “You ready to meet the people in charge?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He was eager, in fact. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“Councilor Sparatus has orders to support us, as long as we aren’t ridiculous in our demands, and Valern probably knows that. Not that he can do anything about it, really, aside from try and roadblock our demands in regards to the Union. Orders from his boss, same kinda case as Sparatus in that respect.” Shepard rattled off clinically, catching them up as they climbed the stairs into the grand hallway the Citadel used as their hearing room. Almost a throne room unto itself, it vaguely reminded him of Covenant structures he’d had the pleasure of visiting on operations as an ODST and a Marine both. 

Notably less plasma whizzing by his head, for one thing.

“There isn’t a Human Councilor, so that’s an abstain on any vote as a rule until Hackett nominates someone and the Council as a whole approves it. Tevos will stay neutral, and Sparatus will side with us, but that means every vote will fail.” Which means they wouldn’t be able to win a vote to appoint a new Human Councilor, since Tevos would know supporting it would align with the Human-Turian alliance and end the lockdown they were in. “So we have to sway the Asari Councilor to side with us, or… Or sidestep the Council itself entirely, which is something we’re trying to avoid, best we can.”

“Not that it’s working all that well, hate to say.” A tired, gravelly voice said as a scarred man in a pressed, shining uniform stepped to meet them before the last set of stairs ahead of the Council. The Trooper saw the rank and saluted, but the old man shook his head and offered a hand instead, “To hell with rank, soldier. You’ve done enough to be my equal, bars or not. Admiral Steven Hackett, good to meet you in person, son.”

“Sir, it’s good to meet you.” He didn’t hesitate to take the hand, accepting the gesture more to avoid causing offense than for any other reason. The admiral, kind as he’d been, was still mostly an unknown, after all. A problem for another time, s instead he asked, “You came in person, Sir?”

“Been here a few days, actually, Lieutenant Commander.” Hackett answered, relaxing into a military rest position without much thought. Like an old, career soldier, more comfortable standing in parade formation now than simply standing. “I’d prefer myself and the Normandy both be out there, actually fighting, but with the attack on the Citadel, Udina’s treason, and the Salarian… conflict, I’ve been needed here.”

“How’s the rest of the war, Admiral?” Shepard asked, the old man looking at her evenly, eyes lacking the same… Appraisal, he didn’t know how else to phrase it, that he’d levied at the ODST.

He was a curiosity, apparently, or the man was inspecting him for injuries. He couldn’t be sure which, and neither mattered in the moment, so he let it go. 

“Not very well. Our military doesn’t have the tactics for fighting the way Reapers deploy. Their ships don’t use formations, they grapple ours and crush them in their massive finger-like things. And their infantry never needs to stop, so a position just has Husks pour in until it runs out of ammunition if nothing else.” The aged soldier sighed, the sound old and withered but somehow firm in that furious way that only a few ancient soldiers could manage. “Oddly enough, the Krogan have been helpful, there. On the ground, Blood Pack ‘consultants’ with Vorcha to either counter the Reapers, or train our men for us. And pirates who used to use grappling cables to board ships showing us how to build formations to defend against that, too.”

“Are they trustworthy?” Shepard asked in a low voice, wary of the same problems he was, then. More quietly, of course, he held the same reservations, but Shepard was anything but quiet when she had an opinion. “Pirates, mercenaries… Probably slavers in there, too.” And that sounded like she had some baggage there he would never ask about, “You really trust them in positions like that?”

“After what you and Doe did for them? That insanity back on Tuchanka?” Hackett nodded with a small, amused sound in the back of his throat, like a cough meeting a bark of laughter and unsure how to continue on. “Way some of the Krogan talk about it, even the ones who didn’t get cured, you’re probably the center of some kind of cult. I trust them, least as long as you two are around.”

“Understood.” Shepard snapped off, cold and military, before she asked in a quieter, wary voice, “What’s the plan regarding the Council?”

“First is a commendation for Doe, yourself and Krios, for your actions in the Cerberus attack.” He already disliked this meeting, then. Accolades from assholes on top that weren’t helping the situation they were thanking him for intervening in? No thank you, he’d prefer his next deployment. “Then, well… We press the Asari Councilor to hold a vote of no confidence against Valern, and try and instate a Human Councilor.”

“Won’t work.” Shepard warned, the man sighing tiredly but giving a nod in answer. So they all knew pressing the Asari Councilor wouldn’t do anything, then. “Guess we have to at least try… Even if it’s pointless, we can say we did later on, when people look at how the war went.”

“Let’s get this over with, then.” Hackett finally ordered, turning and waving a hand for them to head up first. “That way we can get back to fighting the Reapers and saving the whole damn galaxy.”

The Council chambers had been repaired quickly after the Cerberus assault, a priority job according to the news outlets he’d seen. It made a certain kind of sense, really, that those in command would prioritize need their place of command repaired and in order. If only for morale purposes, the Council would need to look calm, cool and collected, and that everything was in perfect order around them, in the heart of the Citadel. Even if other parts were still burning, damaged, and the repair technicians deployed to fix it needed military sweeps ahead of them in case of turrets, traps and worse.

The Councilors, though, didn’t look as perfect as their chambers did. 

Valern stood stiff, hands folded in front of himself and wringing slowly in anxiety while wide, analytical Salarian eyes watched the three Humans walk out onto the hearing platform. The Asari Council stood beside him, eyes flicking between each Human curiously, but face set as though it had been carved from solid stone, betraying nothing about her anxiety. Anxiety he knew she would be feeling, though, in the current situation. She’d been the councilor of the Asari for centuries, and he knew well enough from the Extranet how ruthless and intelligent she almost always had been. 

Sparatus, though? He was leaning in the podium in front of him with his talons clutch at the metal sides hard enough that they explained the litany of scores along its underse. Unlike the other two, he wore medium looking armor, a helmet hanging off the back of his waist and a heavy, blocky looking pistol collapsed on his waist. Where the other two Councilors looked at them warily, like something to be afraid of, he smiled and stood straighter to give them each a respectful nod.

“Admiral, Commander, Lieutenant Commander.” The alien called out before the others could offer a colder reception, talons curling into a fist over his breast in a salute as his head bowed. “It is a pleasure to see you all, and I’m glad your wounds have healed after your heroics on Tuchanka, Lieutenant Commander Doe.”

“Thank you.” He responded when eyes landed on him and Shepard gave him a short, sidelong look. Feeling prompted by the alien leader, he added, “I only did my duty, Sir. What needed to be done. I look forward to continuing to fight the Reapers.”

“As do I.” The Turian answered, turning slightly to regard Tevos beside him, a predatory smirk spreading across his face before he spoke. “And every other loyal Turian as well. Like, I’m sure, everyone loyal to the Citadel. Don’t you agree, Tevos?”

“Don’t try and bait us, Sparatus, it’s beneath all three of us.” The Asari responded coolly, turning her bright eyes on the trio of Humans standing across from them. The woman smiled thinly, in a way that gave the soldier a sense she only did it to feign politeness, and went on without pause, “And while Sparatus’ opinions on your… Actions in the Krogan conflict don’t reflect official Council sentiments, I can accept admiration for the courage shown in what you all did.”

“Along with your actions in saving our lives once again, Commander.” Valern added, as though his words had been long planned to follow Tevos’ own. Judging by their Turian fellow’s rolled eyes, that was a likely case. “So, officially, the Council has voted to offer Council commendations to yourself, your crew, your new Lieutenant Commander, and one Thane Krios. Who, posthumously, it was revealed was an assassin who had murdered many people, and those crimes we have ordered cleansed from his official record as well.”

“First two votes that have gone through in a week.” Sparatus grumbled shortly, a sneer painted across his face. “But we still can’t appoint a replacement Human Councilor for Udina.”

“Because, in the current situation, we have graver concerns. And there’s no way to know the new Councilor is not somehow compromise.” Tevos offered coldly, and somewhat tiredly as well. Like they’d had this argument a few dozen times already and she dreaded even responding for fear of it starting up again. “Between the Reapers, the rapidly remilitarizing Krogan-”

“Then let’s hold a vote to allow the remilitarization of Krogan space!” The Turian snapped, waving a hand through the air with a muted whistle as talons tore through the air between the two Councilors. Before she could respond, he added, “I move that the Turian Hierarchy be allowed to supervise the remilitarization of the former Krogan Demilitarized Zone. I add that the Hierarchy is in alliance with the Krogan Coalition of Clans, and this is done in response to the Reaper threat.”

“Denied.” Valern was quick to say, before he traded a look with the Asari Councilor.

“...Denied.” She echoed mutedly, a small grimace stretching across her face as the Turian snarled. “Sparatus, you knew that calling such an abrupt vote as that would inevitably fail. You’re not so foolish as to think differently, I hope.”

“Of course it would! Because you’ll use it as an excuse, but won’t let me fix it.” Sparatus snarled, eyes glinting with fury before he sighed and returned to leaning on the podium. With a shake of his head, he added, “CDEM can’t act against the Krogan in any event, they’ve been decimated by the Reapers early assaults in the zone.”

“Then the Turian military is obligated to bolster their forces.” Valern pointed out coolly, “Unless, of course, they are betraying their treaties and obligations.”

“The Primarch has ordered every Turian to stand down and ignore that command, and you know it.” Sparatus countered, waving a talon in the air dismissively. “If you have a problem with it, tell you what. Call a damn vote, show everyone how deep your hooks run in Tevos’ hide.”

“That is uncalled for.” The Asari snapped, actually losing her visage of cool calm for a split second as she rounded on the Turian. 

“Is it?” Sparatus asked quietly, a spined brow raised slightly in question. When the Asari nodded stubbornly he explained in a low, threatening voice. “Every damn time I call a vote to move forward on any of these issues, issues you two will use to excuse inaction in other important departments, you either abstain or vote against me and for Valern. So am I wrong in suggesting that the STG would have hooks in you?”

“Yes.” She snarled, turning from her podium in a tempest of fury, now. “You are insulting me personally, and out of line besides, Councilor.”

“Fine, then.” Sparatus drawled, voice almost mocking as he tried again. “I move that Admiral Steven Hackett, as the highest official left in the Systems Alliance Government, be allowed to appoint a replacement Councilor to the Human seat. I vote to confirm, in case you couldn't guess.”

“Denied.” Valern was quick to cut in, the Asari murmuring her own denial in short order. Seeing the fury and argument written across the Turian’s face, Valern explained as quickly as he could. “He is a military official, not an elected one. Only the Systems Alliance Senate can appoint someone to the Council. Further, there’s the matter of the clear anti-Salarian sentiment he harbors over the Special Task Group’s intervention in an illegal operation against a Salarian installation.”

“Alliance governing procedures mean I am the President of the Systems Alliance, Councilor. Well within my authorities in every direction of appointing an official, just like Primarch Victus could if need me.” Hackett added loudly, to interrupt their argument now, at what looked to be an opportune moment. “And if you refer to your attempted murder of one of my soldiers because you wanted to intervene in a separate, domestic issue between two species, then I will leave immediately. The Citadel and the Council both.”

“Ludicrous.” Valern cut in while Tevos gaped at the threat, shocked by the mere suggestion someone would leave the Council. “No species would surrender and void their position on the Council. Doing so would be suicide for any species’ political ambitions in half the galaxy as a whole.”

“It’s not like we can participate, and you all seem just fine to hold us to the laws of being in it anyway.” Shepard pointed out loudly on his other side, waving her hand at the two aliens on the right side of the raised platform. “You’re both blocking any attempt to let us interact with the Council as equals, so why should we stay in an alliance that’s just using us, and abusing us besides?”

“Murder attempts, backhanded blocking of our political involvement, and military demands on us as well, while you all refuse to assist us in any and every attempt to fight the Reapers..” The Admiral summarised quickly, shaking his head. “Forgive me, Councilors, but I don’t find it very easy to actually see a point in our continued involvement.”

“Not to mention the STG sabotaging Turian soldiers and fighter wings, and kiling our men.” Sparatus snapped a finger though, in a very Human gesture which was probably partially the point, “Ah, but you voted against Salarian reparations for that too, Tevos. And without a Human Councilor, I can’t do anything about it.”

“Are you accusing me of abetting murder?” Tevos asked in a sharp voice, clearly expecting the Turian to reject the idea.

“Yes. I very much am.” He answered thinly, hawkish eyes watching her like a predator watching its prey struggle and gape in its claws. “What do you plan to do about it, Tevos? Hold a vote maybe?”

“I have half a mind.” She answered coldly, “A vote of no confidence seems in order, given your animosity.”

“Save it.” The Turian sneered, turning to the Human Admiral and asking in a surprisingly coy voice, “We came to an agreement already, Admiral. Do you want to tell them or do you want me to?”

“The Systems Alliance hereby invites High Warlord Urdnot Wrex to speak, by way of communicator, from a ship here in orbit around the Citadel.” Before the other two could speak - and deny the request, most likely - Sparatus flicked a hand and a massive holographic projection appeared to the left of the Humans. “High Warlord, it’s good to see you. Is the connection clear on your end?”

“Everything’s working just fine, Admiral.” The Krogan sneered, standing with his massive arms crossed over his chest. His gaze landed on John and the alien nodded, “Good to see you. Heard you kicked some serious Cerberus ass when they attacked the Citadel. Good on you, for that. Sorry I wasn’t there to mix it up with you.”

“It’s fine.” He answered shortly, nodding his helmeted head politely, “Good to see you as well.”

“Save that until you see why I’m here, Rook.” And there was his curiosity again, eyebrows knitting together behind his visor. The Krogan ignored him, though, and turned to the Admiral, “Take it away, Hackett. S’your plan, end of the day, even if I love it.”

“Understood.” The Admiral took a breath to steady himself and spoke, “As of now, due to abuses and attacks against the Systems Alliance not contained merely by attempted murder and espionage as well as diplomatic insults and treaties not being recognized by other members of the Council, the Human Systems Alliance hereby annuls its seat on the Council entirely and withdraws from the Citadel.”

“The Turian Hierarchy follows our allies in the Systems Alliance.” Sparatus barked sharply, pressing a few buttons on his platform and turning to stand beside his podium instead of in front of it. “Until the elimination of the Reaper threat, on order of Primarch Victus, we also annul our embassy holdings and withdraw from all associated defensive treaties.”

“This is insanity!” Tevos shouted, glancing accusatorily at Valern for a moment and then rounding on Sparatus. “Whatever kind of stunt you think you’re pulling, Sparatus, it’s absolutely not-”

“This isn’t a stunt, Tevos.” Sparatus interrupted simply, offering a small, sad shrug to his former colleague, “The Turian race won’t pay for whatever Valern and his Salarian authorities are holding over the Republics. And you have both made it clear that personal matters and beliefs decide your course ahead of the needs of your allies. Something that the Humans and Krogan both do in spades.”

“The Krogan are a threat, don’t you understand?” Valern asked, calm veneer cracking at the sudden turn of events. “Once the war is over-”

“We’ll resettle our system and work with our other allies in the Coalition of Associated Races to establish a stable empire.” Wrex interrupted simply, waving a hand at the Turian leader as an example. “With Krogan and Turian muscle on the ground and in space, we won’t have a match in the war with the Reapers. Or against whatever comes after, either.”

“The Volus will go with us, as well, and bring their knowledge of finances and banking with them.” Sparatus added, giving Tevos a sad look and then shaking his head. “It’s done, Tevos. This war is more important than petty self interests. And the Hierarchy will stand on the side that recognizes that.”

“Now excuse us, Councilors.” Hackett said sternly and quietly, turning to leave, “We have work to do, organizing our new government and reinforcing Krogan space for refugees and repair stations. You never know what, or who, will come to attack us.”

Silent, the two Councilors watched the Turian join his Human allies and leave, Wrex’s grinning hologram flickering out a moment later. And equally silently, he moved to follow them out of the hearing area and down the steps, headed towards the elevator.

“I’ll be boarding my destroyer shortly and heading for Krogan space along with a defensive flotilla.” Sparatus said lowly when they reached the main elevator, and the group paused in front of it. “I doubt that the Republic will go to war over this, but the Union may try something.”

“Understood.” Hackett answered with a curt nod, “I’ll escort you, along with the High Warlord’s travel-frigate. Shepard.”

“Yes, Sir?”

“I want the Normandy on rear guard, and then you’re to meet with us on Tuchanka, at the Hollows.” He turned to the Turian, who met the man’s gaze with one of his own filled with curiosity. “Ceremonial krogan site, the ships in orbit can direct you to a landing site. As good a place as any for official government proceedings, until something better can be arranged. Or built.”

“Sounds like a good enough place, I agree.” He nodded, Turian guards coming to stand behind him to either side warily after the display. He paid them no mind and nodded, looking exhausted as he spoke further, “It’s unfortunate it had to come to this, but the Reapers… We can’t afford Salarian manipulations or Asari patience against this.”

“Exactly.” Hackett agreed, sounding and looking grave, “Now, we have a war to fight, and nothing to hold us back while we do.”

That the ODST could understand, and get behind, absolutely. His war was like theirs and, it seemed, now they were learning to do what they didn’t like but needed to be doing in order to survive. And honestly, to him at least, it seemed about time for that kind of pragmatism to be front and center. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

SD Phantom :

Thane’s involvement with things beyond what Thane has said, and chapters he’s in. As you found out in this chapter. XD

Brainarius :

Because the way to save Ashley or Kaidan requires you to have visited them a few times and spoken with them, to earn their trust. In this, due to the rush of the Reaper war and the desperate need of Krogan support - more, slightly, than in canon due to outside influences - she didn’t have time to return to the Citadel. 

Thus, she didn’t earn Ash’s trust and so Ash didn’t stand down. Saving them is part of a perfect runthrough, and this is no perfect runthrough. Sorry if it upsets you, I’ve nothing against the characters, except Ashley a bit. Just the way the story fell.

Side note I, uh, may have killed Kaidan in my first runthrough. >.>

Helljumper 406 :

No, sorry.

Zeus 501 :

Explanation for Ash above, though in hindsight, yeah. Ash and Rook would have been an interesting back and forth. He’d understand her mild xenophobic tendencies, at the very least, and she’d validate that.

Raptor 010 :

As are many people, apparently.


	19. Chapter 19

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“Hello… Viewers, this is Khalisah Al-Jilani, your number one reporter of all things you need to think about regarding the fate of the Systems Alliance. As you know, with the largely concrete dissolution of the Citadel Council, and the effects therein, I am an independent reporter. So please, consider supporting me on Supporter.Extranet, under the name Khali-Jilani.” Shepard rolled her eyes at the pandery introduction as well as the undercutting of what was left of the Council’s authority, but argued against neither. 

She had her orders after all, so she simply sat across from the woman in the Normandy’s mess hall with a patient smile and her hands folded on the table, waiting while she rattled off an advertisement before finally turning to her, “And of course, myself being her guest for once aboard the SSV Normandy, I’m here with Commander Jane Shepard, Alliance Navy and former Council Spectre.”

“A pleasure, and, if I may?” She raised an eyebrow at the woman who, wary of older interactions with her, nodded and waved her weathered looking drone forward with a hand, “Hello to all of you, as well. I just wanted to, personally, wish you all the best and say that you’re in my prayers. And my thoughts, every time I land on Reaper ground or engage a Cerberus assault force.”

“A good message to start with, Commander.” The woman complimented coolly, seeming to actually like the words regardless of their less than agreeable past. “Now, as per our agreement - and the viewers at home can read it on my site - we agreed on several lines of questions before this.”

“Yes.” All the better not to get ambushed as badly with. “And I’m glad we came to an agreement, as well.”

“I could say the same, Commander.” But she didn’t, of course. Instead she let it hang for just a second, long enough to make the absolutely glacial levels of iciness between them clear to her viewers and prime them for how to receive Shepard. “So, would you like to start with the juiciest pieces I was told I’m allowed to ask about?”

“That being?”

“Tall, dark and jumps from a ship in a metal pod?” And Khalahira, she could see the mirth dancing in the blitz reporter’s eyes. “Your new XO, no less, from what I understand.”

“Ah. That, ah… I see.” She sighed and asked in a quiet tone, “So, Admiral Hackett said you were allowed to ask me about him? I should have been informed of that, I think.”

“I was supposed to, and I contacted my agent to arrange it. I suppose, with the chaos going on in the galaxy right now, the message… Didn’t get through.” Even now, in a ‘civil’ interview, the woman found a way to blindside her. Shepard’s eyes narrowed dangerously and, suddenly serious, the reporter rushed to add, “This is a livestream, Commander. I wouldn’t risk my reputation, or my military clearances, to get a relatively minor scoop and then be another refugee sent into the former DMZ for ‘my own good’.”

“Conditions on Tuchanka and in Aralakh system are better than in a Reaper hold or one of their prisoner camps, I can promise you that much.” Shepard pointed out snappishly, quickly schooling her emotions to gauge the woman’s claim. “I trust you to cover your back, though, and asking about classified intelligence and lying about clearance would put a knife right in it. So, ask away.”

“That was a colorful description, Commander…”

“I’m very imaginative, Ma’am.” She smiled, drumming her fingers on the table and smiling thinly at her, “And your time is ticking. Literally.”

“I know, and it’s fine by me. This kind of back and forth is nice, it shows that we’re both just people at the end of the day.” The woman reached up to brush long hair out of her face, loose and hanging, just long enough for Shepard to pick out a hairline scar. Pale, pink, and flaring slightly towards the end. 

Her reaction must have shown because the woman across from her explained, turning and pulling her hair aside so the special forces soldier could see it and her camera could move around to show her reaction and the scar both, “I was on the Citadel, Commander. Reporting on the refugee situation in the camps cropping up around C-Sec intake, I’m sure you saw them when you visited?”

“Yeah.” It had been hard not to, frankly. Supply crates turned into housing stacked high in civilian docking areas, C-Sec unwilling to do what they technically should have and arrest the squatters. Tragic, but better than nothing. “What happened?”

“I’d been doing a side piece investigating Council corruption rumors regarding Udina, taking money and acting against Human interests.” The woman explained, letting her hair fall back now that the resurrected renegade had seen the scar well enough that she could guess at what it was before the woman explained. “Well, surprise surprise, I was right. And he didn’t like what I’d been publishing about him, or that I had pushed so hard for an official report from him about the situation.”

“So when Cerberus showed, they went looking for you.” Shepard guessed quietly with a small, sympathetic grimace. 

“Grabbed me and a bunch of other ‘undesirable assets’, lined us up against a wall, and started shooting. Round cut across the side of my head, probably saved my life because it knocked me down.” She swallowed anxiously after she finished her story and her eyes flicked to Shepard for a second, and then to the camera, before she forced a smile so brittle it could have been made of glass on for effect. “One of their contacts on the Citadel, only joined up because of you, saw what was happening and rallied the rest of the prisoners. Those Cerberus idiots had given him a gun and put him in charge of them… Three Troopers and an officer didn’t stand a chance against raging refugees. Some of which came with claws.”

“Sounds like a brave man.” She could imagine how brave he’d have to be, to lead a charge against a Cerberus gun squad with only him being armed. And even if he lived, he’d have been arrested… “What happened to him?”

“Oh, I took him back to my apartment after I got out of treatment and he got out of the Alliance’s inquiry office. Fun night, didn’t go how I wanted, but he’s a good friend now. He’s my producer now, the Alliance pardoned him to work on something classified..” She shrugged and offered the woman a small smile, “He’s a massive fan of you, that’s why he pushed so hard for this interview to happen. Says you’re his best friend of all time.”

“Oh…” Oh no. No, no, no, no- “What’s his name, then?” 

“Conrad Verner.” She answered simply, Shepard’s smile cracking as she did. “He said you met on the Citadel, in your hunt for Saren. Talked him out of enlisting, said he was your friend, and you inspired him to get back to school and finish his PHD.”

“Conrad got a PHD?” She’d always assumed he was a fanboying idiot… Harmless and a good guy, at heart, but nothing that would ever amount to anything. “What field?”

“Three, actually. Advanced theoretical physics in regards to particle effects in vacuums, quantum mass effect entanglement integration, and a dissertation on biotic integration with kinetic distortion barriers onboard ships to reduce heat usage.” She blinked as though remembering something and turned, fishing in her large purse for a few seconds before pulling out a book as thick as Shepard’s head, “When the Reapers trashed his orphanage, he sold everything he had to get them off world. This is a signed, physical copy of his dissertations for you. A gift.”

“Oh.” She took it and blinked at the surprising girth of the thing. “This is… Big.”

“Yep.” She leaned over, the camera buzzing by to help, and flipped open the cover to an introductory page, “This is special for you. A thank you, he asked me to point it out. These can be bought on the Extranet in digital version, and hardback if people want it, but this is unique.”

“Thank you.” It was actually rather thoughtful, and apparently the man was some manner of genius judging by her quick scan of the foreword. Maybe some kind of condition? “I’m sorry, did you say orphanage?”

“Yes. The ‘Shepards’. Full name ‘Shepards of Wayward and Needy Youth’, technically, but that’s just the legal name.” She waved it off and smiled, “But this is twenty minutes of my interview gone already, so…”

“Let’s restart the timer, then.” Shepard said quickly, offering the woman a smile and then turning to the camera, “And this is my favorite book off the Citadel, for everyone that knows my licensing deals.”

“Wonderful. Now,” Khalisah leaned forward, “Tell me about the relocation programs. Is it true that Human worlds are being evacuated to Krogan space?”

“Yes, Aralakh system is the current home of the United Solar Governments, and that name will be reviewed once a governing body can be built.” She hoped it would change, too, it didn’t roll off the tongue like a real name should. At least in her opinion, that was. “There’s a lot of hard work to be done, repairing Tuchanka and defending against natural predators, but the Krogan are more than welcoming to their Human allies’ refugees.”

“Because of this… John Doe?” Shepard nodded and the woman smiled, “Please, tell us about that. How much of the rumors can you confirm?”

“It… Depends on the rumors.” She answered simply, settling in for a conversation and knowing Hackett would have words for her later.

“Hackett confirmed the ones for me when he approved the interview, this is just for my viewers. Who can’t see the document I was given.” She assured him, the Commander nodding simply at the statement, “Start with how he was adopted by a Krogan clan, first. That is a story that involves you, so it’s a good start.”

“Very well…”

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

The ODST pressed his armored back against the wall behind him, the ancient rubble not shifting even as he pressed against it in the black of the night. Stretching out around him for miles was the same kind of rubble, like the rolling hills he’d seen in pictures of Earth and on countless planets in his career. Save for the fact that these rolling hills were entirely artificial, made of the ancient and crumbled ruins of the Krogan society that had been before their self-inflicted holocaust. Tuchankan nights were cold, but his armor, thankfully, insulated him against the very worst of it to allow him to stand stock still against the wall, the other side of the little cleft he’d slid down into to hide only a few inches beyond his face. His mission had started twelve hours earlier, and two kilometers north of where he was, and was as simple as it was difficult. 

Make it to the Hollows past Krogan infantry patrols, Alliance armor support and entrenchments, and Turian air patrols roving the area.

Back pressed against the wall and magnum held in his hand, he slid down into a kneeling position, eyes locked on the end of the cleft as shadows passed by less than three yards away. Deciding to test the patrol, he slowly, painfully rose and slinked forward, one hand held a hair’s breadth from the stone face ahead of him in case he stumbled, so he could catch himself before he fell and made real noise. A measure that, in truth, was almost certainly unnecessary, but the moment one got arrogant was the moment one picked out his headstone and srote out his will.

“-do you think he is? ” The woman, Human and lightly armored, asked, standing inside one of the ‘checkpoints’ that had been established every mile the road stretched. Little more than barricades on either side, a barrier between the directions of traffic, and watchtowers keeping an eye out in truth. But, eventually, he knew it would be a small fortress. 

Problems for the future, he chided himself. 

“It’s already been half a day, but that’s rough terrain, and he has to be crossing it since none of the checkpoints have seen him.” Her Turian counterpart, lightly armored and leaning against the bottom of the watchtower, answered simply. “Maybe he’s reached checkpoint five?”

“Checkpoint four at least.” the Human soldier answered with a small laugh, “Wouldn’t put anyone else at that speed except Spectres and N7s, but this guy is… Apparently absolutely fucking insane.”

“Hear the Krogans talk about him, you’d think he was some kind of super soldier, like out of the vids.” The Turian acknowledged, giving a warbling sigh and glancing around them, eyes roving uninterestedly over the hidden, still ODST without ever seeing him. Finally, the alien remarked, “Time for my patrol up the road to Checkpoint Two, though.”

Pushing further, he picked up a loose stone and chucked it clean of the cleft, sending it skittering along the rubble the way he’d come from. The two soldiers turned at the sound, the woman half-raising her Avenger, but both simply exchanged glances and shrugged it off, the woman grunting simply, “Probably an animal, no way it’s him. And Varren are all over the place around here, too.”

“Yeah…” The Turian warbled gently, asking, “Should we call it in anyway? I can go check it out, if they order it.”

“Nah.” She dismissed with a wave of her hand, sounding exhausted. “Was just an animal. No sense getting command to dispatch eyes over a damn Varren. And besides, no way he’s back here yet.”

Satisfied by what his testing had given him, he frowned and slid back the way he’d come, slowly and methodically until the voices vanished. Then even further, until the trundling of armor receded into a muted sound in the back of his hearing. 

Then he turned and climbed up the wall carefully and quietly, scanned the approach from Checkpoint One to the objective, and began crawling, walking in a rushed little half-crouch, and slinking between cover to get there. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“The patrol patterns are well maintained, but there’s a distinctive lack of understanding of the environment among the Humans and Turians.” He finished his report, standing in the private office of Admiral Hackett, the man seated across the metal desk from where he stood and devoting all his attention to the soldier’s report. “Fatigue is also undermining decision making, I believe. Though morale seems high enough.”

“Between the Reaper war and the schism with the Council, that is one problem we don’t have.” Hackett grunted with a short, curt nod and a shake of his head. “News turned out favorably for us where it mattered, so recruitment is up. And with the Turians reinforcing space around Tuchanka… Well, we have places for refugees to go, and work that needs doing where they end up.”

“Hm.” Hard, physical labor in space, on low-atmosphere planets, or on Tuchanka’s broken surface to build housing, defenses, repair facilities and whatever else needed building or clearing away. Hard physical labor that, incidentally, many people preferred military service to, the military notably being exempted from most of the labor duties.

Whatever was needed, he supposed. So long as the species survived, there was potential for a better future beyond the labor and pain.

“My recommendations, Sir.” He said shortly, laying the holopad on the desk for him and stepping back. “Will that be all?”

“Regarding this? Yes.” Hackett answered simply, holding up a hand in a gesture for the younger soldier to wait. “However, I wanted to inform you that the Normandy will be in Tuchankan space once again shortly. Once she is here, your temporary reassignment here will be over.”

“Why, Sir?” He was, of course, happy to return to his ship finally after two weeks of dummy operations and formation tests, that could never be denied. But there was his damn curiosity again, rearing its head.

“The same reason I and other fleet officers will be heading offworld to rejoin the fight more directly.” The man shrugged simply, gesturing at his meagre, bare surroundings with a wave as he did. “Or did you think this was my office, Lieutenant Commander Doe?”

The office was small, in a four story building assembled from prefabrication sections typically used in colonies, that reminded him much of Eden Prime. And every floor was full of office space, where fleet officers managed troop movements in the sector, refugee work assignments and ration distributions, and whatever else needed to be managed in the slowly establishing administrative center. The first of many, Wrex had promised him in a drunken slur over tankard that looked more like a barrel of Ryncol days prior. 

Why fleet officers were doing the job was a mystery to many, the ODST himself being one of them, and he allowed himself to ask the obvious. “That coincides with Shepard’s return. Are they connected?”

“Very much so. She’s been overseeing publicity events convincing people to evacuate and come here to help, gathering allies to do the same, and as a result of her and the Shadow Broker’s assistance, we have a bevy of governors, mayors and administrators coming to the system that will be taking over management.” The man smiled and added, sounding pleased, amused and like a man finally releasing some of his stress over something all in one, “She is with the fleet transporting them. First of many to come this way.”

“Will it be enough?” He asked, always curious and pessimistic in equal measure from experience and understanding. “Even with the administrators, we’re still losing on to many fronts, and we’ve lost Salarian and Asari support.”

“Yes, but Shepard has a brand of loyalty all her own, apparently.” Hackett pointed out simply, drumming his fingers on the desk in thought for a few seconds before explaining what he’d meant, “We’ve got Batarian ships, ships bearing mercenary markings from everyone all the way from Eclipse to the Blue Suns and some smaller bands, and ten Salarian Union ships from apparent deserters. As well as a hundred Specters that are deserting to come to us, to fight the Reapers.”

“That’s… A lot.” That kind of numbers, food would be a problem soon, but he trusted that solutions to that were being pursued as it was and didn’t mention it. “Can they be trusted?”

“Shadow Broker contracted the mercenaries, the Salarians were cleared by Shepard and I trust her judgement, and the Batarians just want payback against the Reapers.” He dismissed quickly with a wry smile, clearly pleased that they’d gotten so much support. “The Specters… Well, we’ll watch them, but they’ll be deployed nine times out of ten, so not much they can do but help Cerberus or the Reapers directly.”

“I see.” That was unlikely, to say the very least, even if they were compromised to the Republics or the Union. “Good news, then, Sir.”

“Indeed.” He answered with a heavy, relieved sigh, “Now it’s just the frigging war to win… But that’s up to me, for now. You’re dismissed, Lieutenant Commander. Report to Shepard and await her further instructions.”

“Yes, Sir.” He snapped a salute and turned, headed out of the office and towards the stairs down and out of the building. At the doors, the guards didn’t even bother to do more than glance at his armor before letting him through, his equipment distinctive enough to be recognized by basically everyone at a glance.

Somewhat annoying and somewhat pleasant as well, that.

Outside of the main building, the settlement as it was stretched around in each direction for three miles. This settlement, as opposed to any of the hundred others cropping up around the Krogan homeworld, wasn’t meant for civilian habitation, industrial developments, farming, or anything else. Instead each of the fifty foot tall buildings that filled the three mile radius were devoted almost entirely to administration offices, the majority of which also served as bunks for the people working there. A wide plaza had been planned in the exact center of the settlement, for a hard defense-evacuation point in the worst case, but for now it was nothing more than a few dozen yards of wide, flat, dirt for three quarters of it while thick sheets of metal had been laid out on the last for shuttles to land from the dreadnought, Hackett’s command ship, idling in the sky overhead.

‘Just in case’, he’d been told when he asked. In case of what was fairly obvious, so he’d not bothered even asking about that.

Atop the majority of the buildings were heavy fortifications and anti-armor batteries facing out of the settlement, the roofs ringed in chest high barriers almost like castle towers. Except that every single roof had them, along with heavy gun emplacements, ammunition processors, thermal clip coolant systems and more. Whatever else would be up there, the soldiers themselves would have to have brought themselves. Soldiers who, even now, patrolled the roofs on careful watch for any threats coming towards the settlement. 

It was like one massive fortress, by the Krogan designer’s intent. They knew how to settle here, after all, so the native species was being assisted in designing. They just so happened to have the support of three industrialized races now, was all. 

He was reminded that not everything on Tuchanka was well, though, when a Krogan of all things lumbered by, missing an eye and cradling his left arm against his chest in a heavy metal sling. Reaper infantry and armor still covered sections of the planet, and the space around it of course, as well as Cerberus raiders and saboteurs. The administrative center of the Coalition had been placed smack in the center of the most secured grounds, of course, and he’d been on call there… So it was easy to think that everything was safe and peaceful, around New London.

“Kralt John Doe.” He turned in the mostly empty street, such as it was, to the large Krogan lumbering towards him. He wore light green armor with his symbol splashed across the shoulder in proud, sure strokes. A member of his clan, and as he came to a stop, he brought a fist to his breastplate in respect for him, the other extending with a blocky, salvaged Krogan datapad, “A message from High Warlord Urdnot Wrex, for you, Scar Warrior.”

“Understood.” He responded simply, reaching out with his armored hand to take the heavy thing from him. The Krogan nodded and he returned it, waiting for his word, so he added, “Dismissed, Courier.”

“Understood, Scar Warrior. Good hunting to you and your krantt.” The Krogan grunted, striding past him after the dismissal purposefully. 

A far cry from how the Extranet descriptions of the Krogan spoke of them, the Krogan he knew now were. With the Cure came a great many changes to Krogan society, almost night and day in comparison. Those who hadn’t been cured were, even though they knew that a replication of the Cure was being researched, fanatically devoted to defending those who had received it. Clans that had once been mortal enemies had immediately called upon the Rite of Union, of dozens of Shamans, to mark the Reapers as their mutual enemy and some had even allowed their clans to be absorbed by Cured ones and used as labor and fodder both to protect the special line.

Reading the message he sighed and turned, headed over t where Shepard had landed for a meeting and a new assignment. 

On the way, he’d look up what Rachni were in more detail.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Just a quick note, but a lot of the development in Aralakh and throughout politically, and the war at large, won’t be directly covered going forward. Not because I don’t have it thought through, or thought out, but the focus of the story is on Rookie and his fight through the war. 

Plus I don’t think that ten thousand words every chapter about fleet movements would be anything BUT dry as hell to read. 

So for those that would like the details, most non--essential Human and Turian worlds are being evacuated to Aralakh and connecting systems. There people with technical skills are being assigned to development while others assist in construction, rubble removal - including sending it to space, in some cases - and so on to essentially rapidly rebuild Tuchanka and neighboring planets into semi-habitable planets to take in the refugees. As well as develop, train and whatever else needed military forces as needed. 

In canon, no such refugee location really existed, outside the very rapidly cramped and developed Citadel. Here, though, Turian training, Krogan strength and endurance and Human ingenuity merge up to facilitate the rebuilding of a system into essentially a fortress sector. Not as extreme, of course, but Cadia is a decent example of the idea I am going for. 

Just a minor note in an update chapter.

Next time, the muthachuffing Rachni make an appearance… Yay.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

SO58 :

Desperation breeds bad decisions, typically. The Salarians are prone to panicking and pursuing the easiest solutions regardless of harm to others.

Guardian X Angel :

Alluded to it here, yeah.

7th Maniac :

I didn’t, don’t worry. I was already anticipating many Salarians and Specters and Asari all having minor numbers schism away.

Enji-Bently :

Easier to make Shepard do it for him, running around playing newscaster and making it look good to get people on board.

Spudy potato :

Yeah, I tried to be careful with that.


	20. Chapter 20

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

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Betas for this story so far :

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Shepard met him when his shuttle touched down in the Normandy’s engineering bay, wearing her armored undersuit and her uniform pants and boots, and not much else beyond. She looked tired, too, he noted. But not in the ‘been fighting for days’ kind of way, where the body broke down and soldiers saw each other cracking, but the mind stayed together. She wasn’t injured, he could tell that much from the form fitted bodysuit and the way she walked alone, but she was still beaten down. She smiled when she saw him, the way she always smiled when one of them walked up to her, but it didn’t reach her eyes and make them shine the way they usually did. 

“Hey, John.” She gave him a quick hug that he returned with one arm, other hanging limply at his side. He wasn’t a hugger, but he knew by now how physical a person Shepard was, so he let her have the few seconds before she bounced back and gave him a nod. “Good to see you. How were operations on Tuchanka?”

“Well enough, Ma’am. Needs improving, but my report explains that.” And, it went without saying, she could get ahold of it if she wanted to. She more than had the clearance too, at any rate. “How did the… Public morale tour go?”

“I did interviews, worked with some planetary evacuation forces a couple times on plush missions where I didn’t even need to fight anything worth a damn.” She sighed and joined him in leaning against the shuttle’s side while Cortez disembarked, stretched, and wandered around to check its engines. Arms crossed under her bust, she sighed and asked, “You know what I mean?”

“Yes.” Doing interviews, overseeing the last legs of a small, unimportant evacuation to show it was important and slap the commander’s face on it - ‘If Shepard thinks it’s time to run, who are you to argue?’ was a running slogan on some sites - and a few skirmishes so the news reels could see her fighting. “Public morale is supposed to be important, Ma’am.”

“Yeah, but- Ugh!” She threw her head back against the shuttle’s hull, and waved off an annoyed Cortez face that poked around the engine over it, and then finally groaned dramatically. “I just want to be out there doing something to actually stop Cerberus or the Reapers. Not play babysitter to the people who are doing that stuff.”

“I understand.” He nodded, content to simply let her vent for the moment.

“I had to ask for this assignment, you know.” She pointed out snappishly, angry at no one in particular and instead at the situation as a whole. “The board of vice admirals Hackett instated argued with him until they were blue in the face that I was ‘too valuable in terms of public relations usage’ to ‘risk sending into armed conflict’.”

“I know that too, Ma’am.” He’d been told much the same by the man himself, when he asked to be deployed adjunct to Krogan forces against the Reaper leftovers on the other side of the planet. He was deemed ‘too valuable’ by the new admiralty board that Hackett was building with the Turians, the Krogans having opted for more ground command positions since they didn’t have a naval force. Remembering his first squad commander’s favorite quote, he parroted, “The perils of fame and success, is not getting to do what made you famous and successful any more.”

“Avers was a good squad leader, yeah. Always spouting that philosophical stuff...” She nodded, then grimaced and gave him an apologetic smile, avoiding his face and instead staring at the floor. “Sorry, John, I remembered him too and I didn’t think-”

“Just life now, Commander.” He didn’t like her being in his head, or him being in hers, or Javik being mixed in for that matter. He strongly disliked all these things, but that was his life now. “It’s the reality of the situation, Ma’am. Nothing can be done about it, so there’s no point worrying about it. Marine saying, ‘My job is to shoot shit, so if I can’t shoot it, I don’t need to care’.”

“Your marines sound a lot like ours.” She responded after a snort of amused laughter and a wry shake of her head, “Kinda hard to believe you would be part of such a testosterone fueled, bravado based thing as either Marine unit.”

“You were too, Ma’am.” He remembered it, remembered a couple missions where she’d piled out of shuttles while fire rained down on her and her fellows. The specifics were lost but he had images, like pictures, and short snippets that told him enough of the story. “It takes all kinds to make it work.”

“Yeah, it does…” She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair and then went on, “With everything that happened with the Council, I don’t know if we have enough to build up to fight the Reapers.”

“What about that secret project, the Crucible.” She gave him a look and he shrugged, tapping the side of his head with a finger, “I remember Mars, Ma’am. It’s where we got EDI’s body, and the Crucible plans.”

“On hold, unfortunately for Liara’s stress levels.” She shrugged and sighed, but didn’t seem too upset by the news. At least, not in context, though that might have just been how mentally fatigued she was effecting how she presented herself. “We’re busy with construction now we’ve pulled out of Farixen, and we’ve allied to the Krogan and started settling planets in their space. New warships, transports, weapons, space foundries for them, drydocks… There’s so much to build, no credits for it in the nonexistent budget, and there’s nothing we can do about any of it.”

“Debts can be settled up after the war is over.” Survival first, economy second, comfort whenever there was time for dealing with it. United Nations Space Command modus operandi, to the letter, and for good reason. “I heard the Reapers are tearing apart the Terminus Systems now, Citadel sectors.”

“Yep.” She popped the ‘P’ as usual, to emphasize it, and sighed, “Taken a third of it in the last three months already. And gods, this war has been going on for a quarter of a year already...”

“Any idea why?” He asked, ignoring the length of the conflict purposefully. Another thing that couldn’t be changed and so another thing he didn’t care about, even if he hadn’t come from a way that had lasted far longer than that. “The Reapers were assaulting Human and Turian worlds religiously, but they’ve backed off to attack the Terminus systems.”

“If I had to place a bet?” She gave him a glance, eyebrow raised, as though waiting for him to answer her. Then she snorted derisively and gave a small shake of her head, “The huge political divide that happened with the Citadel Council could spark into a war easily enough, and we already have a civil war with Cerberus to deal with. Terminus is full of battle hardened mercenaries-”

“Whatever ones that are left and haven’t been hired by the Broker.” He pointed out, if only to highlight the rare and minor silver lining to the situation. She smiled in appreciation and gave him a nod, so he chalked it up as a good plan. “Just thought it was worth mentioning, Ma’am.”

“Yeah, but…” She sighed and gave her head a shake, voice small and weak the way it became when she was upset but didn’t want to be heard being upset. She always kept the mask up, he knew, to push confidence into her crew and team. Rare were the moments where, like now, she let that slip a bit to deal with her own problems. “I bet they’re using it to build up Husks of all the varieties they can imagine, with the poor people that chose to live out there.”

“Nothing to do about it right now.” They didn’t have the fleet for it, though he knew for a fact that they would soon enough. “Do you know how fleet construction is going?”

“High command is being replaced, finally, and shipyards are being moved and built in Krogan space. Beyond that?” She shrugged unsurely and sighed, “I don’t know. But we’re holding Coalition space lines, now, and everything we need is being built behind it. So, I don’t know, maybe?”

“We’ll fight either way.” He shrugged, turning slightly to look at her more fully, “On that topic, Ma’am, what’s our next objective?”

“We’re meeting up with a Krogan scout team towards the Perseus Veil. They were supposed to be tracking the Migrant Fleet’s location, so we could make contact and discuss an alliance, but…” She grimaced and gave a shake of her head, pushing off the shuttle and turning to him more fully. “I guess hang out time is over with, for now. Was fun while it lasted, though… Joker? EDI?”

“Yes, Commander?” The ever-present, nearly omniscient aboard the ship, AI answered as instantly as could be expected. 

“Access mission-command file GA-RC1 and route to attached coordinates. Send orders for Vakarian and Javik to meet me in the briefing room as well.” She ordered sharply, the words obviously a coded command file of some sort. The AI didn’t respond but they both knew the orders were being handed out, and she turned to him once again, “John, you’re coming too. You’ll be in command of Vakarian and Javik, I already brief my team.”

“I’m being given command?” He blinked, less surprised by it happening at all and more surprised about when it was happening. 

“You have the rank for it, and they’re skilled operators.” She nodded as they reached the elevator console, the redhead punching the call button and standing beside him to talk. “Javik is your Biotic artillery, Vakarian is your marksman and technical support. Unless you would like different squadmates?”

“No, Ma’am.” Not only were they skilled fighters and complementary in skillsets, he was sharp enough to notice that they were two who he was closer to, relatively speaking, than anyone else. The elevator opened and he stepped into it with her, head turned slightly to speak to her as the lift rose, “What are the operation parameters?”

“Unknown, at present.” She said quietly, adjusting the front of her suit around the collar with a hand, “Or rather, unknown beyond certain limits. But I’ll get into it during the mission briefing proper, as short as it will be. Mostly, I want to use it to let you assume command of them properly.”

“Acknowledged.” He nodded, and the two fell silent from there until the door dinged open onto the command bridge, the galaxy map dimly lit and awaiting her input if the Commander chose to step up to it. “Ma’am, I would like to ask what a Rachni is, though. Before the official briefing.”

“Don’t worry, my briefing will cover it.” She waved the concern off and led the way around and to the right, the ODST laying his collapsed rifle in the holding tray and stepping through with the woman ahead of him. “Even though it’s relatively common knowledge, at least for the most part, a refresher about basics around something is always useful ahead of an operation that’s important.”

“Understood, Ma’am.” He nodded, stepping into the glass-walled conference room and leaning against the far wall to wait for the others, arms crossed over his armored chest, content to relax and close his eyes for a while. “I’ll wait.”

“Figured negotiating a little patience from you wouldn’t be that hard, you do love your power naps.” She snarked, the man ignoring her for the most part and simply enjoying the pseudo-nap. 

Besides, he couldn’t exactly argue. 

He did like power naps, even when he had to stand to wait on everyone else.

“Several years ago Operator Vakarian and myself, along with a couple others unnamed for not being in this operation and classification level, lead a raid on a Noverian experimental lab.” Shepard explained quickly, arms clasped behind her hips and standing at the head of the table where Wrex once would have stood. To either side of her stood John and Garrus, with Liara and Javik further down the table, all dressed in their non-combats and mostly relaxed. 

They were, after all, still two weeks off from their mission. 

“Now, public knowledge is that on this operation, something was discovered being done illegally by Matriarch Benezia. Something that required the facility’s mostly total destruction, unfortunately.” Shepard continued calmly, bringing an orange, glowing arm around and pressing several buttons. From the ceiling, a blue hologram appeared over the table of a massive insectoid, four long tendrils expanding from its back, and she explained, “This is what was discovered there. It’s a Rachni Queen, a leader in a sentient race of hive-minded insectoids the Krogan were uplifted to fight a war with.”

“A war which led to the Genophage.” Liara added helpfully, voice high and lilting in a way he was coming to associate with most Asari now. “They’re psychic in some manner, as well. Able to puppet the fallen around them, though poorly, in order to communicate. Not to mention their ability to breed and survive in hostile environments only Krogan could even assault them in.”

“No kidding, they’re why the Krogan were uplifted. None of the other species could keep up with their numbers or their durability.” Garrus added, mandibles clicking uncomfortably. At what, the Trooper wasn’t sure, and the Turian moved on before he could dwell on it and let his curiosity run too much. “I remember right, she said she’d behave when we let her walk. What’s going on?”

“She did say that and, by all reports, she kept her word. Until now, there’ve been zero official reports or complaints about Rachni activity in the Terminus-bordering systems.” She grimaced and, in a lower voice, added quietly, “However, according to Aralakh Company, they’ve been active since a month ago. Attacking mainly fleeing refugee ships and small support flotillas operating in connected systems.”

“Any idea as to why?” Garrus asked, waving a hand at the Queen, “She’s behaved so far. Why the sudden change from quiet and hiding to raiding and killing? Even the Reapers shouldn’t have known she was alive.”

“Likely for food and resources, obviously.” Javik offered simply, smiling in that condescending way he did. “Those are the usual reasons that forces raid supply lines and the like, even among primitives and the Reapers. Are they not?”

“But why now is the question.” Garrus countered, waving a taloned hand at the insectoid’s still hologram. Mandibles clicking in confused agitation, the Turian went on, speaking to Javik as much as Shepard, “She promised to behave, avoid people wherever possible. She’s even saved people, we met an Asari on Ilium a couple years back she saved. So why the change?”

“She mentioned when we… Encountered her, on Noveria, that the Reapers could control them.” The Asari’s pause told him of animosity left over from their ‘encounter’, and that drew some curiosity from him that he pushed aside for now. With a wave of her hand, the alien continued, “The Perseus Veil’s adjacent systems are near the Terminus, where the Reapers are the most active. A link is there, perhaps?”

“If the Reapers got the Rachni…”

“I know, Garrus.” Shepard cut in with a heavy frown, shoulders stiff and worryingly straight. With a deep breath, she continued her explanation, leaning forward and resting her knuckles against the table to hold her weight, staring down the alien like she was challenging it to argue with her. “When we encountered her, I released her. I wasn’t about to genocide an entire species, particularly when she hadn’t done anything to anyone. And now that’s coming back to take a chunk out of my ass.”

“Perhaps you should not have released her, then.” Javik accused quietly, spined brow raising, “If you were going to regret it later, that is.”

“She made the right decision.” The ODST surprised himself, speaking before he’d even fully thought about what he wanted to say. Blinking when several sets of eyes landed on, he sighed and waved a hand at himself, “I know what it’s like to have aliens want to wipe out your species. And to have that translate to killing you when you may not have ever even done anything to them. Everyone here should understand how that feels, now, with the Reapers tearing through worlds.”

“I find myself agreeing.” The Prothean offered gently, turning to the Rachni hologram and giving a small, quiet hum of unsurety. Finally, he sighed and nodded to the commander, eyes downcast and a hand over his heart respectfully. “I apologize, Commander. I spoke without thought and support your decision.”

“Appreciated, but regardless, we have a mission.” The woman brought up her ‘Tool again and pressed a few buttons, a desolated planet replacing the Queen on the holo-display. “This is Utukku, a relatively small, isolated planet with a breathable atmosphere but rapidly oscillating temperature, very little water, and next to no major mineral deposits worthy of notice beyond basic metals.”

She pressed another button and the display shifted to a map of a system, dominated by a gas giant and a wide ring of asteroids. “This is the system, which as you know, is near the Terminus Systems. Pirates and mercenaries often use asteroid belts like the ones present here to build hideouts and the like and so, according to Wrex, the lack of any mercenary or pirate presence was an odd factor to the Krogan scouts initially sent. Rumors spoke of some kind of alien, insectoid in nature, holding the region.”

“And Wrex knew about the Rachni, so he heard ‘insect’ and sent a team.” Garrus guessed, the woman nodding simply at the question. 

“Right. First he sent a scout team, which vanished. Then he sent a larger, more veteran one in to find out what happened.” The Commander’s eyes flicked to the hologram and she grimaced, giving a thin shake of her head and a sigh. “They also vanished, aside from a single transmission that made it out of system with one word in Krogan. It translated to ‘Rachni here, good fight’, loosely speaking. So he sent Aralakh Company, a team of the best fighters from over a prominent dozen clans. Which is holding with casualties for our arrival, they’ve established orbit in their ship and will land just prior to our arrival.”

“For obvious reason, the Company can’t be wiped out during the operation. The diplomatic loss of face for Wrex, if he loses the best fighters from so many clans, would be to much to bear. It could put the Coalition on shaky foundations, going forward, with the Krogan clans.” With a press of a button the holographic map winked off and she looked between each of them in turn. “Priority one, establish the presence of a Rachni threat, and evaluate what needs to be done about it. The Queen said, on Noveria, that the hive’s offspring could be controlled but Queens often couldn’t, so verify her status. She could be valuable.”

“An almost inexhaustible army and a workforce working ‘round the clock on construction on everything from the ground to warships…” Garrus whistled a clicking sound and nodded, “It would be a pretty great trade, if we could swing it.”

“Exactly.” Shepard nodded, a small smile breaking across her face for a moment before she slid back into her stricter mentality and mannerisms. “Priority two, then, is to defend and extract the Aralakh Company if at all possible. Vakarian, Javik, you two will be serving under the Lieutenant Commander to that end. Cover Aralakh leader and his unit as best you can.”

“Understood.”

“Ma’am.”

“If I must.”

“Liara and I will be supporting scout teams around the perimeter and clearing tunnels of Rachni, looking for the Queen. Our objective is extraction, if possible, or termination of the Reaper asset if not.” She finished, looking to the ODST meaningfully, “You’re going to be facing the brunt of the combat while we use you as a distraction and you protect the VIP unit. Will that be a problem?”

“Negative, Ma’am.” He was used to distraction jobs and heavy combat operations both, though the addition and combination of a VIP unit was a new one. Nothing he couldn’t adapt to, though, he knew. 

“Good.” She nodded, leaning back and continuing. “You will all be issued anti-corrosive sealant for your armor, spread it liberally over your armor. Rachni acid is highly corrosive and can send even Krogan warriors into shock. Either ending in death or a blood rage, it still means that it will slag us all. You will also be issued shredder modifications for your weapons, use them. Rachni are armored lightly but mostly, their hides are susceptible to shredder rounds. Any questions?”

“What is the standing order if only the Krogan unit or the Rachni can be recovered?” Javik asked quietly, the woman grimacing at the question.

“There isn’t one, there’s too many variables. In that situation, I will make the call as I see fit. If I am incapable, John will.” She answered sharply, the alien nodding at the simple response. “Anything else? No? Good. You are all to see to your equipment, rest and await our arrival in the Mulla Xul system. Dismissed.”

With the rest of the team, he left, headed for his bunk to get to work on his weapon and armor, and then start resting up ahead of the fight. It was sure to be a big one, after all.

With Krogan, it always was.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

And thus the start of the short Rachnic Arc begins~

It will be a short arc, but one I needed in regardless for various reasons that will become clear. After this will be the Quarian-Geth arc, and then Cerberus before, finally, the finale arc. And unfortunately, a short chapter, because I initially intended to start the Rachni mission in this. But then I realized the first chapter of that I want would make this way too bloated with nothing happening until a cliffhanger at the end.

Not a good payoff.

XD

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7th Maniac :

Yeah I’ve worked hard on the krogan culture. Is complicated, so took time, though. But yeah, broken telephone and everyone talking about the crazy bullshit he pulled, with just krogan sources for info.

Not a good scene for a guy that likes napping.

Asari guy (Guest) :

That will come in the Cerberus Arc, which is after the Quarian-Geth one after this micro-arc.

MEA Is Good :

No, I’m not.


	21. Chapter 21

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Getting to the system was a lengthier, riskier endeavor than one might at first assume. It was days spent flitting from planet to planet with the thermal enveloping online, trapping the ship’s heat inside the vessel’s armored hull, preventing it from leaking into space and giving whatever enemies might be around a heat signature that could be tracked. 

Crossing a single system took days, once or twice, waiting for planetary orbits to get close to other bodies so they could rapidly vent the Normandy’s built up heat straight into the planet’s gravity well and then jet away, hiding in the gravitation and thermal shadow of a planetoid, asteroid, or whatever else they came across that could mask their presence. A dozen times, they could see Reaper or even Cerberus ships in the distance or on ladar systems, and once they had even seen an allied fleet limping away from one while the Reaper destroyer leisurely picked off the ships one after another. 

Morale had lowered on seeing that, even further than days sweating in the heat of the ship had. But the crew were disciplined and skilled, and so did their duties regardless of what they saw in the black depths of space. Knowing it wasn’t their call helped, though, he was sure. 

“I just… Wish there was something we could have done.” Shepard finally finished, sitting in a little chair she’d carried down into the hold he used as quarters, plopping into it backwards and spinning lazily in slow circles while he worked on his gear, still dressed in her bodysuit and pants. She’d changed, he knew as much from the minute difference in her pants now, so he supposed she was just a bit more comfortable this way and had decided to stay dressed as such. 

For normal comfort or the use of keeping her cool in the hot ship, he wasn’t sure, and pushed it aside when she started talking again, belaboring her anxiety in an effort to relax it. “I mean, I made the right choice. I know I did. It just… I don’t know. You know?”

“Feels like the wrong one.” He finished for her, only turning enough from his improvised work table and broken down rifle to catch her nod. “Nature of the beast.”

“You mean the war, or command?” She sounded like either answer wouldn’t please her, and for once the ODST was sad to say he’d have to disappoint her. 

“Yes.” He grunted simply, shrugging when the woman groaned. They fell into silence after that until, finally, he decided to address the elephant in the room, “Why are you talking to me about this? I’m not the most sociable one on the ship, and I don’t know how to deal with these kinds of… Problems.”

“Mostly?” She shrugged, “Garrus is checking weapon systems before we make final approach, in case there’s any Rachni air power to contend with.”

“So I’m the spare?”

“I mean, you said it, not me, Rook.” She smiled so he knew she didn’t mean it and, theatrically and for her benefit, he rolled his eyes in amusement. Only half faked amusement, he realized after a second, before he shook the thought off. “I’ll get over it, just needed to vent, you know?”

“Hm.” He nodded, the woman’s pouting face sliding into view in the corner of his vision.

“You’re doing the ‘sounds as sentences’ thing again, John..” He turned and she reached out with a hand to thump him on the forehead with the back of a knuckle, glowering at him all the while. “We talked about this. Remember? You don’t get to be all quiet and closed off, you know it’s better when you aren’t.”

“I don’t-”

“I saw you with the Krogan, John.” She cut him off, poking his forehead and wheeling back across the floor with her feet, wheels clacking quietly on the metal floor. Grinning at his grimace, she took his hesitation for the chance it was and went on, battering down his defenses and defiance with her hard evidence. “I saw how much happier, more relaxed, you were with them. You were more open with them, talked more and more often. You proposed things, John.”

“I like them, the Krogan are… I like them.” He shrugged, turning back to his weapon, working slower to clean the pieces before slotting them back together in a beautiful jigsaw puzzle of death. Sighing, he moved on to the firing mechanism, scanning each piece twice, once with his eyes and once with his ‘Tool, as he explained. “The Krogan are hard, honest and have been fighting for their existence for centuries.”

“You empathise.” He nodded and the woman seemed to understand, nodding herself and dropping the subject entirely. Instead, she asked in a quiet, curious voice, like a child afraid to upset her parents with a question that might be unwelcome. “Do you… Miss home? Your universe, or, uh, whatever the terminology actually is, I mean. Do you miss it?”

“Hm.” Did he? He wasn’t sure, really, if he did. His old galaxy and this one were both war torn, full of hellscapes, and every step had a real chance to be his last equally. But… “I don’t know, Jane. I will always wonder what would have happened to me there, what happened to my people too, but I’m not there. I’m here.”

“In a new place to call home?” The question was gently phrased and softly said, the woman probing him for his reaction carefully. Like a ship navigating a minefield, wary that each wave broken could mean their ship falling to ruin. 

“Maybe. Don’t know yet, really.” He shrugged unsurely and, understanding him by now, she let the question drop entirely. For a moment he considered asking why she bothered having these strange conversations with him but he knew she did this to every member of their team. So he let it go and instead asked, “How long until we reach Utukku, Ma’am?”

“Touchdown tomorrow morning, around oh-seven-hundred, on the planet.” She answered clippedly, straightening and stretching in her seat as she internally switched gears and slid into her commanding persona. “The Krogan will be on the ground, and the scouting flotilla will be hiding in the system’s asteroid belt to avoid eyes. The Normandy joins them and we take a shuttle down to Utukku, where the Krogan have established a forward operating base on the planet.”

That meant thirteen hours to rest, eat and finish his kit’s mandated upgrades for the fight on the planet…

“Understood, Ma’am.” He gave her a curt nod, adding in a polite and hopefully firm tone, “I’ll need the time, Ma’am. To get ready. If you don’t need me for anything, Ma’am.”

“Fine, fine, I can take a hint. Sometimes, at least.” She grinned at a joke he didn’t understood, or ask about, and stood. One hand snaked around the head of her chair and hoisted it onto her shoulder and the other gave him a mock salute, the woman grinning at him and taking a couple steps back and away. “See ya out there, Lieutenant Commander Doe.”

He sighed and considered tossing another barb at her, likely about how she had had him promoted so she didn’t get to poke fun, but instead just turned back to his work quietly. Which, from her pout, he knew was a better stinger than anything he could have ever even tried to retort with.

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“It’s dead, the scout flotilla managed to kill it when they jumped in-system with only moderate casualties.” Shepard assured them when they convened on the Normandy’s engineering deck to file into the shuttle. “It’s dead, but it’s there. Which means two things. Point one,” she raised a finger to count them off for the armored soldiers around her, both the specialist teams and the Marines who’d gathered in case they had to be called down to the surface as well, “the Reapers have a presence here, in this system, and on that planet. How bad, we don’t know.”

“Two,” she continued, looking between the soldiers to gauge their responses to the first revelation, “the Reapers will realize their frigate was destroyed. Those are used for transport, so they will notice when the Rachni don’t show up like they plan. Or maybe another transport frigate will show up and see the dead one, if it’s cyclical.”

“Either way, the bastards will have ships showing up soon enough in-system.” Garrus filled in from the lines of soldiers, standing beside him in his armor and with his hands holding the front of his carapace armor. “So whatever we’re doing down on the planet, we have to do it fast. Unless we want to try getting past a Reaper fleet.”

“Exactly.” She nodded, “Which means we land, get the objectives handled, and leave. Nothing fancy, nothing that needs us to stick around, we get in, get out, go home. Understood, troopers?”

A chorus went around the engineering bay in various forms and shapes of ‘yes, ma’am’, and the soldiers started to disperse. The Marines filed away to standby positions around the ‘bay, weapons held across lightly armored chests while they idly, anxiously, talked amongst themselves. And he and the specialist team filed into the shuttle, one by one taking seats around the craft’s interior. The fit was tighter than any would have liked, and he wounded up pressed in one one side by Garrus, and the other by Shepard, all three holding their weapons in their laps and exchanging snipes and barbs at the proximity. 

The ride was short, the Normandy and scout flotilla both tethered to large asteroids at the edge of the asteroid belt near where the planet was at this time of year. A brief few minutes of nothingness as they sailed through the dark void of space, before the violent and brief tremors from initial reentry, followed by the final gentler, persistent rocking of the wind buffeting the shuttle as it descended through the layers of atmosphere towards the surface. At one point, for a minute, the sounds of hail could be heard as they passed through high altitude storm clouds, flush with frozen water collecting ahead of the eventual rain to come. For many soldiers, this was a time of stress, anxiety and worry about the number of things that could go wrong.

For the ODST, though, this was barely even noticeable, and for a moment he considered closing his eyes. 

“On landing approach. Brace for maneuvers.” Cortez warned them quietly, voice crackling over the intercom and echoing in their headsets, redundancy at its finest, as the craft listed to the side. A few more seconds passed and the shuttle shuddered gently as it hit the dirt and stone below, engine noise fading to a weak, idle whine. “Clear landing, Krogan waiting on us, and nothing on either radar or ladar systems. We’re green.”

“Rook, you and me are first out the door.” She called out as she rose from her seat, hunched over slightly while he followed behind, a hand on the small of her back in case she tried to stop and so she knew he was following her orders. “Friendly faces for the Krogans out there, make a good impression. Vakarian at the back, and helmet on. No one out there wants to see your ugly mug.”

“Hey now, Commander, you know I’m beautiful.” He snarked back dryly, snorting in amusement as the shuttle fell silent. 

“Shepard!” The Krogan voice cried before the shuttle door had even fully raised, a silver hulk shooting past him fast enough to startle him, a hand on his Carnifex at his thigh warily. Instead of an enemy, though, it was just a large Krogan warrior, crushing the woman in a massive hug that had her feet dangling and hands awkwardly patting his sides. “It’s so good to see you, Shepard! It has been too long.”

“Grunt… Dying.” She wheezed, helmet protrude from a spot between his shoulder and head and wiggling back and forth. “Freedom… Please… Life… Slipping away…”

“Bah! As if a simple Krogan welcome could actually hurt you, Commander!” Regardless, the Krogan warrior did let her down, the woman staggering only slightly but reaching up to pat the alien's massive head after a second. He rumbled pleasantly at that for a second before standing and turning to the other soldiers around him and her, grunting, “Vakarian. Your face still split open if someone tells a joke?”

“Grunt. You still let your mom give you head pats?”

“Oi, I’m right here, you assholes.” Shepard chided loudly, voice telling him she was smiling under her helmet. Sliding into her job, something he could see from the straightening of her shoulders and back, she asked in a clipped, no nonsense tone. “What’s the situation, Grunt? We saw the dead Reaper, so I’m assuming Reaper forces are in the area?”

“Scattered ‘round the planet.” He turned, thumping away into the wide, ramshackle camp and waving a hand for them to follow. They did, and Grunt made sure to speak loud enough for all of them to hear, voice booming over a din of camp life that silences as they passed. “We get scouting parties and raiding groups around our perimeter, but Aralakh Company is made up of Krogan raiders and warlords willing to fight out here. They don’t do anything to us ‘cept serve as target practice.”

He could believe that, looking at the Krogan they passed, returning their respect filled nods one after the other. Their armor was all fine, for Krogan standard anyways, with thick, heavy plating covered in scars both new and old enough to have been painted over. Their weapons were equally battered and old, and random as well, from longer, slimmer looking Avenger models to heavy, red weapons he recognized as Revenants, and everything in between. Many sported melee weapons as well, a couple carrying the massive Biotic hammers wrex had told him about and others carrying different ones. He saw jerry rigged swords of what looked like armor plating and old, heavy pipes as well as massive chain swords, single handed war axes, a glaive of some kind with a telescoping handle, and one even carried a heavy slab of armor with a handle welded onto the back, a white and black Eviscerator hanging off the back of his waist.

And, he noted with surprise, the Krogan sported a helmet with a front visor and sectioned plating that looked like his own, albeit shaped to a Krogan head rather than a Human one. The front of the shield, he noticed as the heavily armored and scarred alien moved towards them, was painted with his symbol in bright red streaks on the front.

“Urdnot.” The warrior greeted, sparing a nod first for the two ‘Urdnot’ and then for him, this one deeper. “Maw-Singer.”

“Kralt Tartog, my lead assault trooper for obvious reasons.” Grunt explained for their benefit as he returned the gesture, the heavily armored warrior returning his gaze to him and letting his shield rest on the ground. “Report. How are the wounded warriors? Can they fight?”

“No, Battlemaster, they are not. Most will need days to rest before the acid wounds are healed enough. Not a kind of time we have to wait.” They’d had skirmishes already, then, which explained the sounds of maintenance echoing around them. Damaged armor and worn weapons, being tended to as best they could be in the brief rest in the moderately safe camp until the next fight started. “I think it’s best if they go back now, to the flotilla, to have their wounds tended. We could defend them here, if the camp were more secure, but it isn’t safe here even if we could spare the Krogan.”

The camp was certainly not safe, made of two large prefabricated buildings set to either side of the small canyon leading up to a section of a third, vanished into a hole at the back of the camp, and little else of note. Nothing more than a forward base to plan and rest in, for a moment, between one fight and the next. 

“Shepard-”

“They’ll have to cram in, but use the shuttle we came in.” She cut him off, stepping forward with a small nod for the armored soldier. “It’s rigged for stealth running, so you should be fine. Get the worst wounded aboard, get ‘em out of here.”

“Battlemaster?”

“Do as she says, Tartog. Commander’s shuttle, Commander’s call, end of the day. Was gonna ask her anyway, so whatever.” Grunt grunted and shrugged, the other Krogan pounding a fist to its breast and turning to trundle heavily away without another word. Turning to speak over his shoulder, the warrior grunted, “Entrance to the cave system where the Rachni are comin’ from is over here. Blew a little hole in, they heard, so they dug up the ground around it and dropped the building the scout team built in, looks like.”

The sinkhole was massive, easily thirty feet in diameter and twice that deep, the other half of the prefab building at the bottom in pieces, a couple Korgan bodies mixed into the clutter. On the opposite end, a cave entrance had been made by the collapse and explosions, and in there was where he assumed the infiltration team would be headed to find the Queen. By themselves, of course, because the Commander didn’t do a damn thing the sane way. That wouldn’t be fun, he was sure she’d say.

“We’ll rappel down, into the hole, and head through the cave system.” The woman explained, kneeling at the edge of the crater with her Avenger held in front of her, relaxed but ready to snap up if a Rachni soldier showed itself. Or anything else besides, of course. “You said the scout team before us mapped them?”

“Suicidal bastards, those Uncured can be, when somethin’ gets rougher than they’d hoped.” Grunt sighed, shaking his great head and then nodding. “Yeah, they marched in with sonic grenades. Little blue things, Turians made ‘em. Radio central over there,” he gestured to one of the standing, occupied buildings with a dismissive wave, “read the sonar, mapped the tunnels. That leads to a big cavern in the middle. Same as ours.”

“Then everyone knows their jobs, so let’s get to it.” A chorus of assent went off around her and he turned, following the dozen Krogan left fighting for Aralakh Company away from the tunnel, towards their own entrance on the opposite end of the camp site and past the hole. 

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Two of the Krogan drew short straws and had to stand guard over the entrance outside, to cover and protect the exit from ambushes and help them retreat when the time came, but the rest descended into the cave system in pairs of two. He and Grunt took lead, his VISR system allowing him to see better than the Krogan could in the dark with only their gun and helmet mounted lights and the odd, bioluminescent slime and fungi lining the caves to see by. Behind them, Tartog followed, heavy shield perfect for them to fall back behind if trouble came running.

Navigating the caves and tunnels was, relatively speaking at least, an easy going affair. The ground sloped gently or was flat, save the edges where the rounded passage curved up, and as an unnatural system made by the Rachni, lacked the spiked stone of stalactites or stalagmites to impede their journey. Instead, all they had to worry about for some time was the ooze on the walls, which was slippery to step on. Like oil, or blood. 

“Eyes.” He called back, rifle snapping up as his VISR highlighted a still mass on the ground a half-dozen feet ahead of them. His flashlight, and rifle beside, on it they closed on the thing and he sighed, kneeling beside the dead Krogan and asking Grunt, “Scout?”

“Yeah.” He sighed, looking at the half of a Krogan they’d found, rifle melted beside him and innards strewn from the base if his chest a foot down the cave. There they saw his legs, wearing the same melted black armor he did. “Acid burns, obviously been eaten some, and there’s nothing ‘round here that could overpower him.”

“Rachni, then.”

“He died good, did some damage before he went down.” The Krogan gestured at his weapon, or more accurately the inch of what looked like a bayonet left on the bottom, to illustrate his point. “Got that in the bastard. Cut him good, hehe… Like a Krogan.”

“What color do Rachni bleed?” The Krogan grunted at the question and the Rookie nodded his head forward, down the tunnel and past the lower half of the fallen Scout. Bright orange drops continued past, disappearing down the tunnel further than their lights could reach. “Unless you think this guy walked all the way up there...”

“Hm.” The Krogan grunted but didn’t answer, standing and waving a hand forward, heavy, blocky Claymore held in both hands and his wicked bayonet glinting from his flashlight. 

Following the trail and the tunnel both, they came to a split in the tunnel system. Two separate passages, each one leading down and then turning to the side where the light from their flashlights ended. Grunt joined him, kneeling at the crux of the passage and using his VISR to look down both in hopes of seeing something more than stone, glowing ooze, and the trail of blood that went down the left passage and vanished around the corner. 

“Krogan survivors or the Rachni that got him back there went that way.” Grunt said shortly, pointing the jagged blade he sported down the left side of the tunnel. Then he turned and pointed down the right, adding, “The first main cavern is that way, though.”

“Which means?”

“Down the other side is just more tunnels. Waste of time goin’ down there, and the sonics stopped goin’ off a week ago. Computer up top said they had a dozen spare, too, so they’d have used ‘em.” Or come back up, if the job was done well enough to not need more, he didn’t bother to add. Grunt would already know something that obvious, surely. “So we go right, much as it pisses me off not to be able to avenge my men.”

“The scouts were yours?” He’d assumed they were separate. 

“Yeah, forward operators for Aralakh Company. All the battalions that use cured Krogan have scouts and assault units made up of Uncured ones, so the species stays secure.” He rolled his shoulders with the explanation and then turned, barking orders, “Tartog, Grantal, forward. We’re approaching the first cavern, so get your flamethrower hot, Grantal. Tartog, don’t get burned by it again, I’m not draggin’ your ass out of here.”

“Yes, Battlemaster.” The two Krogan chorused in response, the shield carrying warrior sliding by to the right entrance while the heavily armored Krogan came up behind him. 

His armor was different as well, with heavy armor sections that were thicker on the front and sloped, like the top of a roof. So that liquid, like napalm or Rachni acid he guessed, would slide more easily off. His helmet was heavy too, with a thin visor that stretched from eye to eye and heavy tubes that ran back from the top of the helmet where they’d be safest to tanks of air on the backs his shoulders, a thicker tank with a caution symbol for fire on the front hanging across his waist. Now, those two lead them, the heavy shield carried in front of Tartog warily while Grantal’s flamer hissed quietly in the silence, aside from heavy footfalls and equally heavy armor shifting. He’d done marches like this before, but…

Why was he so on edge now?

The tunnel ended quickly and opened up into a wide cavern, with roughly hewn walkways between four deep, cool looking ponds of fresh water. Massive, obviously Reaper, cables webbed from the ceiling to the ground, ending in several eight foot tall, three wide pods covered in spikes. Small insects flitted about, crawling on and around it, but Grunt was quick to order them burned. 

“Rachni worker drones. Gotta burn ‘em out or they crawl all over you in the middle of a fight, spit and burst acid.” He explained while the pyro-Krogan worked, scorching the machine with reckless abandon and laughing while he did. Once Grunt was satisfied, he ordered the Krogan back and on to the next of the three, another Krogan covered in heavy pouches lumbering forward to plant bombs on the thing. “Weird, though.”

“What is?” He asked, VISR pinging around them, looking for motion that wasn’t the swarms of scurrying bugs that the Krogan were watching closely. 

“Where are the Warriors?” He asked lowly, raising his shotgun and letting the barrel rest against his shoulder, pointing across the room. “Only one tunnel out, and this looks like a water source. Insects need ‘em. So why isn’t it guarded? And where are the dead scouts?”

“It’s a trap?” He guessed as he pinged with his VISR again, but saw nothing around them beyond the scurrying workers. Eyes narrowed, he held up a hand to silence Grunt who, looking offended, fell silent while he turned, pinging again and again. “My VISR system isn’t detecting the ooze or the Workers any more. Something is blocking my VISR detection.”

“Battlemaster!” Grunt turned to an armored warrior, shuffling forward with a damaged little cylinder, made of black metal with a red button. Scratches were scored across it, as well as acid burns. “We found it by the far exit. It looks to have been set off there to map the area, but these are not Krogan scratches.”

A second passed before Grunt’s eyes narrowed and he looked around them, bellowing, “Krogan, circle up! Prepare for a-” 

Around the roof, several sections of stone finally gave way to the Workers’ efforts, massive slabs falling away and crashing to the ground and water below. Krogan warriors scattered, one crying out in anger as he tried to run and was crushed by a massive slab of stone, dropping their force of Krogan to seven aside from Grunt. From the half-dozen holes, Rachni swarmed from the holes, some with bulbous and orange bodies and guns mounted to their sides and others with sleeker, brown and black bodies, sections of metal and wires mounted to their heads no doubt controlling them.

It was a trap indeed.

And they’d walked right into it.

‘Oh well’. He thought as he turned, rifle snapping up to send short lances of fire up into the holes, shredder rounds tearing chunks out of the Rachni there. One fell far to the ground with a shriek, splattering acid and blood when it hit. He didn’t wait to confirm the kill, slamming a boot down on top of a Worker than skittered towards him and then booting the crunched bug away before finally sliding his sight to the ground, blasting a hole the size of his head in a tendril-covered Rachni Warrior’s side until he could see through it, and the Krogan it had been mounting to kill threw it off his back with a defiance filled roar.

Instincts screaming at him he spun on his heel and sank to a kneeling position, tendrils whipping by where his head had been, and came face to face with a Rachni Warrior. It hissed in anger and, calm as though he were simply getting a drink, he brought his Harrier to bear and bored a hole through its head until he saw the cave on the other side and it slumped to the ground. Two more like it scuttled to either side and he rose, backing away and sending long bursts through them as well while his other hand retrieved a fresh Clip from his belt. Kicking aside another Worker he pulled the almost entirely spent Clip from his gun and hurled it into the face of another Warrior, reloading while it shrieked in pain and then killing it.

“Sand-Swimmer!” He turned, a hammer crushing a fourth Rachni behind him, to see a massive white-armored Krogan behind him, covered in blood both his own and Rachni and bleeding from a dozen small wounds. He hefted his hammer and turned his back to him, laughing loudly in the cacophony of the battle, “I will take your back, Sand-Swimmer! You will be safe with me, on my honor! For I will die before you.”

He was used to dogged fighting in close quarters, and traps besides, so he leaned against the warrior and brought his rifle up.

This was his element.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

7th Maniac :

Glad you’re enjoying it, and I almost didn’t give a taste of the combat at the start and instead left the cliffhanger with the falling slabs of stone. Changed it at the last minute to be nicer, and give a bit of payoff. Feet First into Hell indeed.

Predator 1701 :

Have another fix, then, eh?

Grape Fanta : 

Do I? I confess to some apprehension there, I am not too practiced with those kinds of characters. 

Adoravke :

They will meet, I can confirm that much at the very least.


	22. Chapter 22

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Admiral Hackett was not a ‘nervous’ man, but as they transitioned through the Aralakh Relay into Human space, he would have been lying if he’d said his stomach wasn’t doing its best impression of a ballet dancer. 

The Everest shuddered gently as it slowed to a halt, ME fields halting any inertial damage that otherwise would have sheared their ship in two like so much foam. Around him, the first jump-wave of the Coalition First Fleet dropped out of their own jumps, its four dreadnoughts venting heat and lumbering forward to cover the smaller, lighter armored dozen destroyers and trio of heavy carriers, which warily spat out a contingent of fighters and bombers just in case a Reaper flotilla was waiting in ambush.

The fleet was, as the name suggested, a coalition fleet of the representative races and what they could bring to the table. With the exception of the larger dreadnought allotment, large for having Hackett and the highest ranking Turian naval officer in the fleet’s command structure. The destroyers, though, were almost purely Turian, with only a single Alliance ship in their numbers, owing to the fact that while Turian destroyers were stronger, more heavily armored, and thus better for combat, Alliance vessels favored speed. As a result, Alliance vessels had been broken up into fleets of rescue flotillas, each with a Volus designed carrier like the ones with them now to support them.

However, the First Coalition Fleet was an attack division, not a relief one heading out to the shattered, scattered worlds to save civilians and bring them home to Aralakh. Or, at least as ‘home’ as they were likely to get, really. Until Earth and Palaven were retaken, at any rate, though that was likely to take some time. 

“Sensor suite is showing all-clear, at least in the immediate area, Admiral.” The operator in front of him reported, lithe Turian shoulders bowed as she worked at the monitoring terminal. “Debris at oh-four-fifty, fifteen degrees elevated above us, and Alliance in appearance. Mixed with Turian ships and civilian, the latter of unknown design.”

“The rescue flotilla, then. Damn it.” He grunted, sighing and pacing back and forth on his command platform, glancing at the soldiers around him and the consoles they worked at, watching like a hawk for any minor blip that might warn him of something. Glancing at the ladar station his eyes narrowed and he stopped, barking, “Ensign Lowe, check your console.”

“Aye aye, Admiral.” The woman, an old veteran of the Terminus systems and their mercenary fleets but an ensign here by rank, if far higher in experience to explain her posting here. On his ship. No more than three seconds passed, the ladar system noting the ten more destroyers and twenty escort frigates that dropped in behind them, venting heat while she responded, “Appears to have been ME field interference, Sir. Likely due to proximity to other vessels and Relay usage.”

“Hm.” He grimaced, watching it waver again before turning and pointing a finger at his communications officer, “Signal ping, system-wide, right now.”

“But sir, that would-”

“Execute my orders, chief.” He barked, looking back at the ladar and growling, adding in a loud tone while the man worked in dutiful silence, “Gunnery officer, warm up our main batteries. Secondary officers, coordinate formation Gamma-Delta, ready status red.”

“Aye aye, Sir.” The woman called back, a dozen feet ahead of him but clearly audible in the disciplined silence of the ship. 

“Let me be wrong, Lord. Please, let me be wrong.” He prayed, almost silent enough to not even be audible to his own ears, watching the ladar like a hawk. That was the relay back into Aralakh system, so if the Reapers were here and trying to lock it down, it meant they knew their plans, or that they were planning something. 

Given how public he’d had to make everything, to get he manpower he needed for the rapid reindustrialization and remilitarization of the demilitarized zone, that had been a risk that simply had to be taken.

Around them, the three destroyers adopted a spear-point formation with his own in the back and on the top, a Turian dreadnought taking the fore of the entire formation. Behind that, the carriers moved into position, spilling out the rest of their fighters along with a score of drones, both of which swarmed ahead of the fleet, drones ahead of fighters and waiting there for further orders. The Destroyer fleet then surrounded the carriers defensively, using the bodies of their very ships as a circle of kinetic barriers, outward facing batteries and armored hull for the lighter armed ships to hide behind. Inside that circle and between the dreadnoughts, the destroyers, dreadnoughts and carriers all hundreds of feet apart for this purpose, frigates of Krogan retrofit designs, Turian escort flotillas and Volus anti-missile ships at the center of the formations filtered in to add more to their bulk. 

Like a spike, bristling with guns and swarming fighters, the fleet moved forward and away from the relay. No one wanted a battle near it, inhibiting their movements and threatening to rip unprepared ships apart if they ventured too close in the combat, after all. 

“Sir, contacts.” He bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste the iron in his blood to avoid swearing, letting the man finish his report. “One Sovereign class Reaper in the asteroid belt, thirteen signatures accompanying.”

“Ladar?”

“Five signatures identified by friend-foe recognition tags, Alliance vessels sporting minor exterior damage, sir.” His officer called back, nearly lost amid the calling of orders from lesser deck officers to their subordinates, bringing weapon systems online faster than their red alert status had already commanded and coordinating the fleet’s movements as a single body. Hackett’s ears were sharp and well trained, though, maintained by genetic tailoring from his ground pounding days. “Rest are a mix of destroyer and frigate signatures, Admiral. All sporting minor damage.”

The Alliance ships were without a doubt from the lost relief flotilla, likely crippled in the fighting and then boarded, their occupants forcibly indoctrinated to augment the Reaper forces in the area. 

“All ships, adjust formation to Cohort Zeta formation.” He ordered, knowing that the Sovereign class Reaper would be the real problem, the Destroyers able to cut through many decks easily but unable to at least predictably annihilate their heavier tonnage ships in a single blow, unlike the heavier capital ships. Though their separate fingers could dual target each ship, and destroy them easily then, it was still a better tactic than other options. And with only one Sovereign class to command, he knew that the Cohort style would work best for the coming skirmish. “Five hundred kilometer dreadnought spacing, standard support ship allocation.”

The dreadnoughts moved first, his slowing and rising on on the Z axis, pulling back into a commanding position of the fleet as a whole. The other three arrayed themselves in a row in front of him, the Turian admiral’s ship in the center with the vast majority of the destroyers and the carriers, the entire section pulled back slightly from the fight to incentivize targeting the wings. Or punish ships that moved to the center, firing into their flanks as they advanced, though Reapers were somewhat infamous for not caring about casualties by now. Only three frigates stood in the center forward dreadnought formation, pulled back to provide anti-fighter and anti-missile support for the dreadnoughts and destroyers.

As a mirror, two destroyers joined each flanking dreadnought, with the rest of the frigates left over from the two command sub-fleets. The fighters in this formation filled the gaps between each lesser cohort. Like the wooden spikes the Romans this formation had been largely taken from used to defend against the Carthaginian and desert pachyderm units, guiding them into the wooden spikes and stabbing into their flanks as the beasts charged through the easiest path they could see. 

From left to right, the fleets were designated cohorts Beta, Charlie and Delta, with his command fleet designated Alpha. 

“Designate former-Alliance vessels as priority target, followed by Reaper frigates and then the destroyers.” The Alliance ships were doubtless the worst damaged of the group moving from out of the asteroid belt and towards them, recognizing the fleet redeployment for a reaction to them. “Put those poor bastards out of their misery, and send some Reaper ships to hell for taking them.”

They, to the last, deserved far better than to fester and come apart at the Reapers’ macabre hands. 

The Reapers seemed more than happy to allow his men and women to do as he liked, too, sending the stolen craft into the middle of their formation and ahead. The Reaper frigates trailed behind, clustered in small defensive pods of ships around the destroyers, and the Sovereign class hung at the back. Sacrificial pawns arrayed in order of preference for the sacrificing, and obviously so as well. 

“Ladar officer, confirm this is the only Reaper presence?” He asked, watching the ships loom closer, headed into range of the forward ships and thus allowing the gunnery officers to coordinate the rear-most ones for a volley shot. Seeing their closeness, he added, “Gunnery officers, continue coordination and fire when ready. Flight coordination officers, once the Reapers reach one thousand kays out, I want our drones screening theirs. Superiority fighters follow at eight hundred.”

“Negative contact for five hundred thousand kilometers in any direction, all axes.” The Ladar officer replied, adding after a second, “Detecting more debris four hundred thousand kays out, though, other side of the asteroid belt. Movement patterns and a lack of standard or Reaper ME fields suggest destroyed ships.”

“Residual ME readings?”

“Consistent with recent combat, Admiral.” The officer reported, “Beyond that, I can’t tell. Not at this range and without diverting power, or drones, to the area for closer inspection.”

“Sir, forward dreadnoughts preparing to fire heavy mass accelerator cannons.” His gunnery officer reported, the drones swarming ahead of the ship lines and towards the Reaper fleet. 

Thousands of red lances of energy cut through the black of space towards his drones, flicking in short arcs that cut apart the armored drones like butter. Explosions like pockmarks issued out, silent in the void, before he saw the distant, barely discernible tracers of automatic fire from the drone’s light machine guns. More explosions issued forth as drones on both sides lanced into each other in sacrificial plays to whittle down numbers before their masters actually began to fight. 

Finally, his superiority craft met the Reaper fighters, interceptor craft snapping out of formation in pairs to hunt and kill the Oculi swarming in space, pushing past and towards the Coalition lines as best they could. Gunships followed into the fight, behind the interceptors and more basic fighters. Each was slower and more heavily armored, a wide shaped like an upscaled Kodiak, but sectioned into three decks and fitted with enough energy generation to power the eight light GARDIAN lasers that lanced out to send pinpricks of light blooming in the void, ripping missiles and Oculi out of existence interchangeably. On each deck a ball-shaped gunner’s nest had been situated at the center of the deck, a GARDIAN laser to either side to protect it, and these belted rounds at any ship that strayed too close for comfort. Between those and the superiority wings, not even the swarming Reaper fighter craft could claw an edge in the combat. 

Then their frigates and destroyers reached the fighter lines, and began picking off leading interceptors and fighter craft and popping the heavy, slower moving gunships respectively. Hackett didn’t hesitate to raise his voice and order, “All fighter craft, withdraw to fleet formation position. All ships, fire when targeting solutions are acquired. One hundred kays, weapons free.”

The only answer was an ‘Aye, Admiral’ from his gunnery officer, followed quickly by a gentle tremor through his ship as his prow-mounted cannon fired. The dreadnoughts matched the fire, able to target at this long range unlike the smaller cannons of his fleet’s lesser ships, and a moment later missiles followed from the Volus-designed carriers, who carried with them long range space-torpedoes. The four leading Alliance ships buckled under the mass accelerator fire, cracking and breaking apart with muted explosions and sparks as their cores ignited. The torpedoes, those that survived the Oculi at any rate, cut down the last remaining former-Alliance ships and the old admiral murmured a silent prayer for the lost men and women, and hoped all hands had been kept aboard. 

Better death at their hands now than service as Husk infantry against civilians later.

“Fleet, ahead full.” He ordered, standing on his command platform with his hands clasped behind him. “Broadcast this message, comm officer.” He waited a moment for the officer to nod, and spoke clearly and concisely, “All hands, we’re moving to engage a Reaper force. This is the first real skirmish of the Coalition navy. Make the prices we’ve paid to build this alliance worth it.”

In range now, his destroyers began to open fire with their three minor mass accelerators, coordinating all three on one target in tandem with two other destroyers. The shots slammed home, only a few straying away or deflecting off the Reaper’s angled ships, but only a few of the multi-limbed vessels took significant damage for it. And only one actually went down, the shots straying onto the same section of the destroyer and overloading the kinetic generators in the area, the plating underneath not able to stand up where its shields failed. 

He leaned heavily on the railing that lined the front of his command platform and watched as the enemy targets loomed ever-larger, massive beams of red carving through the void of space and ripping his ships apart. 

“Sir,” his fleet liaison officer called, damage reports no doubt crackling in his ear, “Four frigates destroyed in initial volley, as well as one destroyer. Two more destroyer class vessels too damaged to fight, withdrawing to rear. One confirmed Reaper casualty.”

Now the brawl began, the two lines of ships intertwining as GARDIAN lasers on both ends carved hull apart, missiles shot at less than a hundred yards into each sides hulls, and beams of red death pulsed at his ships. A destroyer, fingers splayed like a hand, slammed its belly onto the Beta fleet’s dreadnought and squeezed, deck sections buckling and venting atmosphere alarmingly. Bombers from the Volus bomber corps zipped out of formation behind their carrier without orders, fifty of them hurtling towards the enemy destroyer while its defensive lasers lanced out to carve them apart. 

Fifteen died en route, and another five as they peeled away, but their bombs slammed home in the side of the vessel. Two of the massive ‘fingers’ fell away on its left side, the dreadnought under it seizing the opportunity to make a hard maneuver to follow them and pull down while the semi-sentient warship listed and tried to recover. A hundred yards away, every missile pod aboard still functioning pelted it with missiles, and GARDIAN lasers followed suit. 

The destroyer died along with two others, the forward dreadnought’s Thanix cannons lancing into the charging Reaper ships and boiling their armor away until their deaths. Spectacular deaths at that, hunks flying off in a rainbow of explosions and flashing barriers failing. Frigates and destroyers funneled through the killbox and his Thanix joined the others, bright blue bolts of power slamming home alongside mass accelerator rounds ranging from anti-capital ship batteries to anti-fighter batteries all, desperate to kill each ship. 

As the first wave died along with a third of his fleet, he raised his voice again, “Fleet action, all ahead full. Aim for the Sovereign class.”

Dutiful and brave, each and every ship moved to do its job, ignoring their dying brethren around them. And ahead of the tooth and claw brawl, he could only breathe deep and brace himself alongside his men and women all.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“Ragh!” He ducked as his hammer-wielding partner spunnin, crackling with Biotic force that he sent cascading out across the cavern. Rachni caught in the rhythmically thumping energy wave were hurled away in bloody hunks of metal, carapace and metal. 

Kneeling on the hard stone of the cavern floor, he brought his rifle up and sent short bursts of almost soundless rifle fire into the few Rachni struggling to rise, the sound lost in the cacophony around them, and turned to send fire back the way his partner had been facing. “Haha! A real and true challenge for us at last, eh, Maw-Caller?”

“Hm.” He didn’t answer, instead rising and sending bursts of rifle fire into more charging Rachni warriors, taking the half-moment of peace to check on the battlefield at large. 

Like them, the other Krogan and his own team had broken into pairs and trios, fighting back to back against the Rachni to seemingly great effect. Fire, bullets, spikes, from Graals that hurled Rachni away to pin them against walls or each other, and biotics that ripped the ground and aliens apart like confetti and lit the cavern in a variety of colors. His VISR system then tinged them all a pale green, showing him his team’s exact positions across the cavern, fighting with Grunt himself against a massive warrior Rachni covered in thicker armor sections. 

Javik ripped hunks of meat and carapace off with green tendrils of power and Grunt charged, breaking the formation and crushing the monstrous alien back easily. It fell back and to the side, and Grunt shoved his Claymore into its bloodied side where armor had been ripped away, sending it to its grave with heavy shots. 

Free of the Warrior’s interference, Garrus turned and looked across the cavern, Mantis barking loud shots off in turn, sending Rachni falling from the walls around them as they tried to crawl down and blasting hunks off the weapon-mounting ones.

He took it all in inside a few seconds and chided himself for even that lapse, turning back to his own fight in time to bring a foot down on one and then two Rachni Workers. He kicked their bodies away so the acid couldn’t erode the stone he stood on and lifted his rifle, gunning down a Warrior charging the nearest Krogan formation and then bringing his rifle up as it collapsed in a bloody, sliding mess, pouring fire into one of the tunnel openings as more surged forth form the holes, including a second of the larger, more heavily armored Warriors. They looked like the brown ones in most ways, he noted quickly as it hissed and moved, but each stood taller and larger than them, their armored carapace plates ending in spiny spikes. 

He didn’t get a chance to fire on it and test the armor, a missile slamming into it with a loud roar of fire and fury, the stone ceiling rumbling threateningly overhead as the tunnel they had been using collapsed. The reaction cascaded for several feet to either side, rock caving in on the Rachni inside and sealing the way. The red-armored Krogan with the Hydra-launcher turned, surrounded by three other Krogan as bloodied as he was, and sent more missiles into the other tunnels in turn, firing until they collapsed as well. 

He blinked and, in that moment, felt something slam into his side with a roar and whump of fire, sending him cartwheeling through the air. He landed in a pile of limbs and armor a foot away, too winded to do more than grunt, and rolled onto his back to see another Apex Warrior charging towards him, four spike covered tendrils whipping angril and side bleeding profusely from a dozen wounds, its head bowed to angle its armor defensively. 

A tactic that worked quite well, his rounds almost exclusively deflecting off its carapace as it charged, only rearing up when it reached him, intent on impaling him with its forelegs poised above him to come down, even if he did kill it. 

An electric ball of energy the size of a bus slammed into it and shoved it back, his hammer wielding ally roaring as he lifted the Rachin and carried it to the far wall, the creature hissing and stabbing its tendrils and forelegs into him all the way. The Krogan warlord slammed him home against the stone hard enough he could feel the stone quake, and reared up above it with both arms, bringing them down again and again until it had been broken and left a fleshy, bloody mound on the ground. And just like that, the cacophony faded into only the disparate blast of shotguns and the dying hisses of aliens trapped with their opponents.

Heaving and bleeding from a score of fresh wounds across his body, the warlord turned to him and nodded, “Sand-Swimmer. Are you hurt? You’re on your feet, so I would imagine if you are it is not so terrible.”

“No.” He grunted, accepting the offered hand up when it came a moment later and ignoring his flaring side. His rib was broken or fractured, he could feel it, but it wasn’t enough to slow him so he rolled his arm to get used to it and asked, “Are you hurt?”

“This?” The warrior waved a hand at the bloody furrows and punctures in his side and the lighter sections of his armor, barking a laugh and looking around them when the ODST nodded. “This is nothing, Sand-Swimmer. Tickles and love pats all, those Rachni aren’t worth any more that that sadly, haha! You took worse at the Hammers, did you not?”

“Technically.” He nodded. He’d been shot through twice, if memory served, and his body was technically less durable than a Krogan’s, after all. “Is the fighting over?”

“For now, the tunnels are sealed after all.” He turned, Grunt trundling up to him with a satisfied smile and his chest and shoulders covered in blood and grime. Javik joined them a moment later, significantly cleaner but no less tired or satisfied looking than the Krogan leader. Grunt gave the alien a need and continued on without pause, “They’ll be diggin’, though.”

“We need to move.” He spared a glance to look over the Krogan and Garrus, two of the former checking the deployed charge son the Reaper cores and a third dragging corpses aside to clear a path in case they needed to run back the way they’d come. None looked wounded enough to matter, but it was hard to gauge with Krogan, so he asked, “Is everyone in fighting shape?”

“Hm?” Grunt turned, bellowing, “Vakarian! Your prissy, Turian ass good to keep going or do you need a break? Maybe a nap?”

“Suck on a talon, you space dinosaur!” The Turian shouted back, looking over his Mantis idly and watching the tunnel further in with an eye. Satisfied, he traded it out for his smaller rifle and shrugged. “I’m good to go, you momma’s Krogan. So unless you need another head pat from Momma Shepard-”

“We move out in five!” Grunt cut the Turian off with a huff, grinning in spite of his feigned agitation when the Krogan around them chuckled. Quietly and more serious, the Krogan asked, “Are you good to go? I saw that hit back there. There’s a reason the Council used us to fight the Rachni, they hit like a Krogan hopped up on Ryncol.”

“I’m fine.” He grunted, ignoring the burning in his side easily out of habit. Grunt simply nodded and turned, headed away to a cluster of bloodied Krogan to check in on them, grunting, laughing, and clapping their shoulders excitedly. Taking the moment of silence, Javik stepped closer to him and he asked, “What is it?”

“These creatures are mere animals, attacking in hordes and sacrificing themselves almost eagerly. Animals.” The ancient alien pointed out dryly, waving his hand at the tunnels they’d had to collapse to break the trap they’d sprung. The other held his particle rifle, hanging comfortably at his side and hissing heat, his borrowed rifle on his back sparking gently from damage it had taken. “Yet they staged such an ambush. How?”

“Hm.” Reaper forces, and these were certainly augmented by the Reapers judging by the bodies being piled in the water, an effort to poison the liquid and stall Rachni growth if they failed to kill them all. Even the more natural, bestial forms had circuitry and augmentation on their skulls, and he gestured at one a couple feet away meaningfully, “Do you recognize these sorts of implants?”

“Yes, I saw them during the fighting.” Javik scowled, then, his spined brows furrowing in agitation and disgust. Moreso even than normal, his lips pulling back and teeth bared in a bestial, nearly, snarl of rage and hatred. “They are similar to those used in my time, on a lesser species thralled by our empire. A Reaper was always near enough to control them, but there are none here.”

“Then what is commanding them?” He asked quietly, the Prothean humming his agreement with the question as the Krogan lumbered towards the far tunnel, forming up once again. “Time to move, Javik. Are you hurt or-”

“Rachni!” The cry was guttural and, more terrifying, came from behind them, one of the Krogan they’d left outside stumbling through and sinking to his knees. Grunt was quick to move towards him, John following close behind while the exhausted alien stammered, “R-Rachni and Reaper infantry, they broke through the rocks around the tunnel entrance. Arvak stayed behind so I could warn you, Battlemaster.”

“Damn it! Krogan, form up. Get those charges checked, we need to get out of here!” Grunt snarled, turning and raising his armo up, Omni-Tool flickering on. “Shepard? We’ve lost our surface access and are descending rapidly. How’s your end?”

He didn’t wait to hear the response, instead taking a poisition to the side of the tunnel to wait on the Rachni. He didn’t need to wait long before he saw the first hint of movement, long and sharp legs trundling into view, and sent fire up the tunnel. The Warrior tumbled and snarled, leg flying off from a lucky shot, and was then crushed under the feet of its fellows as Garrus joined him, Phaeston roaring to life from the other side of the tunnel. Next was the pyro-Krogan from earlier, who belched flame up the tunnel and added to their destructive potential, keeping the insectoids at bay. A minute passed before, out of nowhere, another Hydra missile shot past hem and up the tunnel, caving it in and covering them in dust as it did.

“We go deeper and through, exit on the other side.” Grunt grunted, tossing the Hydra back to its owner and jerking his head towards the far tunnel. “Plant more charges, we’re collapsing this cavern completely.”

No one pointed out that that could cause a larger cave-in, but everyone knew it. Still, the Krogan handed out charges and began planting them around the base of the cavern. And, inside a couple miinutes of quiet work while he and his team watched the colapsed tunnel and Grunt watched the other for Rachni, they were done and back in formation again, descending deeper through the rock tunnels once again. They walked for what felt like an hour in tense silence, gunlights snapping around every curve of the tunnels warily and weapons hissing, humming and thrumming with life as they walked. 

The Rachni, though, seemed wary of fighting a force of heavy infantry primarily armed with close quarters weapons in a tunnel, though, and so they progressed in peace for a time. Only pausing when they encountered side-tunnels their maps showed weren’t useful to them, and collapsed them with explosives, biotic attacks, or just crushing blows of melee weapons. 

“Spirits…” Garrus murmured as they exited the tunnel, fanning out and glancing around themselves warily. 

At the end of the tunnel was a massive underground cavern, the tunnel itself letting out on a ledge that went on for unknown distances in either direction with a dozen feet between itself and the sheer wall on the other side of the underground fissure. High above them, another fissure had opened up in the rock either by natural means or Rachni needs, and far below them they could hear the sound of water unning rapidly. Dozens of holes dotted the cavern around them, easily discerned by the black holes left in the sea of brightly glowing blue fungi that crawled over every surface around them, like a forgotten world in an old cartoon from his childhood back on Earth. Though this one was torn by massive mechanical tendrils that spider-webbed around and across the cavern high above above them all. 

It was strangely beautiful, he thought, looking around the cavern more in quiet awe, searching out anything important to the mission. Finally, he pointed his rifle off to their right and gruned, “VISR readings show a structure that way, Grunt. Two stories, just around the corner, judging by the electricity running through the cables.”

“Shepard’s down there.” Grunt added by way of answer, jerking his Claymore down, the cliffs to their left slowly sloping down into the earth. The other, he noted, sloped equally gently upwards, and grunt took note of that as well. “Exit that way, probably. Lotta flats that direction, after the mountains. Would be a good troop pickup point, eh?”

The situation was obvious, made even more so when shrieking echoed around the cavern and the Krogan snapped into a tight, shoulder to shoulder formation. From every hole - and there were at least a hundred of them - Rachni crawled out, these almost exclusively the barely augmented Warriors and the buzzing swarms of Workers surrounding them. Like his fellows, he took to snapping off bursts of fire, sending Rachni screeching into the cavern below, knocking their fellows down with themselves as they went in threes and fours. 

“Rook!” He turned, pausing in his fire to meet Grunt’s eyes, teh Krogan pointing down the passage, “Take your clan-kin and your team, and get down there. Meet with Shepard and get headed this way. If we’re all gonna die down here, we should do it together, at least! Haha! Krogan, show these beasts your rage!”

“And you?” He asked when the tremoring roar died down, the aliens now fighting somehow harder than before. The Krogan’s only answer was a vicious, toothy grin, and the ODST accepted it. Turning, he shouted out above the din of flamer fire, rifle fire and Biotic explosions, “Tartog, Vakarian, Javik, with me. We’re rendezvousing with the Commander down below. The rest will hold here, to delay and guard our exit.”

“I obey.”

“Sir.”

“As you bid, Maw-Caller.”

Tartog took the front position, the other three in a line behind him, as they charged out of the Krogan defensive formation. The massive, armored warriors stepped aside fluidly, guns spewing fire and fury in every direction matched by biotics and flame. One cried out as a Warrior scaled the cliff under it, tendrils puncturing his knees. The ODST caught his orange eye and saw a certainty spawn there, the warrior hurling aside his weapon and gripping the Rachni warrior in one hand. Then it lept, grappling another as he fell and catching more intheir flailing bulk as they descended and, inside a moment, vanished. 

Sorrow and purpose filled his veins unbidden and he turned his head forward with the next footfall, rifle snapping up as he loosed a torrent of rounds in short, controlled busrts into the Rachni ahead of them. Beside him, Javik grunted and three tendrils of power snapped out, spearing into Rachnin and hurling them from the wall on their left through their fellows and into the ravine. Tartog cudgeled a hissing Warrior aside as they charged, the creature slamming into the wall beside them before his shotgun ended it. With a warning cry, Garrus loosed a concussive shot to not be outdone, the round flying high and striking a stone that fell with the Warrior on it, crushing four of the insectoids under its weight. 

They continued their charge like that, bashing, crushing and hurling aside Rachni, or letting them fall on limbs broken by pinpoint shots. 

“Ragh!” He staggered as Tartog stumbled, blood flying from his side as one of the Prime Warriors scaled the wall, tendril whipping back covered in orange blood. 

Krogan blood, he realized as he stumbled by and the creature leapt, Tartog’s shield coming around for it to land on. He turned and loosed a torrent of rounds into the creature’s side, sending it sprawling across his kinsmen. The warrior pushed it off and slammed his shield down, trying to stand as three more Warriors came up, one sporting the artiller pieces so many had been fitted with. At point blank range, it snapped off three shots. 

The first struck his chest and hurled him back against the stone, his head cracking back hard enough his ears rang. The second scorched into Tartog’s shield and hurled it aside, and the third sent the Krogan sprawling in a mess of bright blood, a strangled cry of pain, and a rolling arm. The limb thudded to a stop against the wall, and he saw the gauntlet, the arm within painting the grey stone around it vibrantly. Saw the hammer and claws on his own armor, and looked to his kinsmen. The Krogan tried twice to rise, armor and chest blown open, before a Warrior leapt on him and buried its legs in his chest with a sickening schlick. 

Once again, he met Krogan eyes, this time through a broken helmet. This time he spoke, coughing a, “Don’t do it-”

Without a fury filled roar, the Korgan shot up and slugged the Warrior on him aside hard enough a leg snapped off and it went sailing into the ravine far below. The artillery-Rachni tried to draw a line again, but Tartog ripped the limb embedded in his chest free and impaled it through the face, kicking out hard enough to hurl the creature across the ravine and into its fellows on the other side, a dozen Rachni falling to their dooms below. The third evaded his awkward, sidelong punch, ducking under and lunging up, burying its baw in the softer flesh under his shoulder and burying tendrils in the Krogan’s stomach and neck. 

Undeterred, Tartog ripped its tendrils free and then belted a punch into its skull, crushing through chitin and its innards both easily. 

“Go!” The Krogan bellowed as Workers crawled across him, his one hand awkwardly swatting them away as the alien twitched, Blood Rage taking hold. The ODST refused for the moment, rifle scoring through two more Warriors and then whining for a fresh clip, and Tartog bellowed a second time, “Go, Kralt John! I will hold here, for as long as I can, but you must leave!”

“He speaks the truth, Lieutenant Commander.” Javik snarled, teeth bared and stained with Rachni blood as his Prothean variant of Biotics roared and his body steamed, his energy slowly burning away the mildly acidic blood. “We must go!”

Snarling, the ODST turned and ran, slamming his shoulder into a Warrior that got in his path and kocking it back with a cry of pain as his shoulder flared. He turned, hopping backwards as his rfile ended the creature and then turned back, running as fast as his burning lungs and battered body would move. 

And cutting down any and every Rachni that crossed his path, of course.

“Rook?” Shepard called out as they staggered to the base of the path minutes later, the Turian turning and watching behind them, rifle cracking once at a Warrior that had followed. The woman and her team joined them, covered in burn marks, claw marks and a variety of colored blood, and she asked, “What are you doing here, John? Where is Aralakh company at?”

“Holding our route out, Commander. I was sent to rendezvous.” And taking losses, he was sure, though he didn’t say as he looked around. More pools of water and Reaper nodes dotted the area around them, massive cables spindling along the roof and converging in an enclosure of stone in the center of the area. Nodding his head, he added in a clipped tone, “The Reaper cables converge there.”

“The Queen is there, secured by those cables.” Liara was the one to answer, sounding tired but looking no worse for wear than Shepard did. Kneeling beside a Reaper terminal, her arm glowed orange and she went on, face lit in hues of purple from the light, “We’re working on releasing her right now, in fact.”

“You left the VIP team?” Shepard snapped suddenly, sounding less angry and more shocked. He nodded and she asked, waving a hand back the way they’d come, “Why would you even think that was a good idea? What about the Krogan? W-What about Grunt, he could-”

“Jane.” Garrus murmured, cutting the woman off adn stepping between them, a taloned hand reachin gout to settle on her shoulder. The woman met his eyes through her helmet and he spoke, voice gentle but firm as he did, “They’ll be fine, holding is what Krogan do. We just need to get the Queen and get out of here. Before they run out of ammunition, preferably.”

“Liara?”

“Done, Commander.” The machine whirred and sparked and then, overhead, the cables shifted violently, some breaking free of the stone entirely and falling away. 

The quintet stumbled away as massive steps carried the Queen forward, a leg as long as a school bus and half as thick ripping up stone as it stepped into the clearing, body smashing aside rock and metal both as it did. The Rachni Queen was shaped and designed much like the Rachni Warriors themselves, only a hundred times as massives and lacking almost any metal attachments. Where they’d had implants, her carapaced, sloped head was bare and clean, though scarred with claw marks and the tell tale pocks of bullet markings, scored across her armored hide. A hundred arm thick tendrils whipped behind her, lashing at and ripping out metal spikes and cables, the creature shuddering as her blood flowed and she freed herself. 

“They were trying to slowly indoctrinate her, and keeping her trapped within her tunnels until they could, churning out Rachni for the war effort.” Liara explained, the alien bowing its head low to the ground and looking at her with multiple sad eyes. Eyes he could swear were filled with gratitude, and that made the Asari swallow and look away in anxiety, “She will need a moment to remove the metal that they were using to bind her.”

“But she’s clean?” Garrus asked, loudly enough that the Rachni matriarch trilled in sorrow and fear.

“I melded with her and confirmed it, yes.” the Asari answered, the Rachni trilling loudly in pain as a spike as long as he was tall was pulled from her back and tossed aside. She stood and shuddered, entire body stretching as sections of carapace pulled away and breathed for the first time in what had to be weeks. Liara nodded at the trill the alien sang, turning to the Commander, “She’s ready to move, now. And her connection to her broken children is restored, enough to have some effect.”

“Hope you caught your breath then, boys.” The Commander grunted, stepping past them and raising her rifle, “Because we’re headed right back up for my baby boy, before he gets into something momma can’t fix.” Glancing to the Queen, she asked in a loud voice, “You don’t have a problem with that, do you, your majesty?”

The alien only trilled in answer and they formed up, the massive creature following them sluggishly up the stone ramp, still wounded and slowed for it. 

The Rachni had a mix of reactions to their presence, some shrieking and attacking, others fleeing before them like the devil itself was behind them, and still more writhing in pain and smashing themselves against walls or hurling themselves off cliffs as they marched by. The Queen trilled sadly as they went, no doubt the cause of their insanity, and soon they reached the Krogan. 

“Shepard!” Only six Krogan remained, now, surrounded by gore and the dead on both sides. The casualties included, sadly, the pyro-Krogan, half of whom lay at the edge of the cliff, smoldeirng lightly. Still, Grunt beemed, covered in gore but moving to hug the Commander regardless and only pausing when he saw the Rachni with them. “Ah. Found the bitch, eh, Shepard?”

“Your unit?” She asked, casting glances around them warily and worriedly, skimming over the battered Krogan.

“Krogan lives have certain… Risks.” He shrugged, giving her a nod and stepping back, jerking his head up and towards the exit. “Let’s get out of here, Ma’am. I’m starving and dying for a tank of Ryncol rigth about now.”

“Are we safe, Queen?” Shepard asked, the alien trilling and bobbing its head at the question in a yes motion. Nodding curtly, the woman turned on her heel and slammed a punch into the ODST’s stomach, shoving him against a wall and jabbing a finger at the Krogan dead, Grunt’s eys widening at the strike. “You were supposed to guard teh Krogan, John! What were you-”

“Hands off the Sand-Swimmer, Human.” The hammer-wielding Warrior rumbled warningly, weapon thrumming with power as the woman’s head snapped to it, Grunt glancing between the Biotic Krogan and the Commander in shock. “He fought as a Krogan, and trusted in his battle-brothers. Had he been here, the dead would number the same. All died for running out of ammunition save our pyro, whose tank was breached by acid.”

“You should have stayed at your post, John.” She added quietly, releasing him and sighing, shaking her head gently as she stepped away. Hands held up in mock surrender, she added, “I’m sorry, okay? I… Don’t do insubordination well. That’s all. Tends to get my men very dead, you know?”

“It won’t happen again, Commander.” He nodded, pushing off the wall and letting the matter go. And she had a point, insubordination - even for good reasons - cost lives in the field, and he should have known better even with his command position. “I should have followed orders and stayed with the Krogan. I don’t know what came over ma, Ma’am.”

“Mhm.” Her tone implied she didn’t believe that, and he’d get an earful of her ‘theories’ later, but she gave the flabbergasted Grunt a nod. “Time to get the hell out of here. Hackett’s either going to love this or court martial someone...”

The journey to the surface, while not a peaceful one by any means or imagination, was at least somewhat safer with the Queen rending the minds of the Rachni they encountered.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“Admiral.” Shepard snapped a salute as the hologram sparked to life, eyes narrowing on the man’s worn looking face. Even in holographic form, the ODST beside her, in his battered armor like Shepard herself was sans their helmets, he could see the disheveled, worn way the uniform hung off him. “Sir, are you… Alright? Is Aralakh system under attack? If so, I can return within-”

“I’m fine, Shepard.” The man interrupted her gruffly but smiled as well, standing in loose parade ease like they themselves were. Sighing, and seeing the hard look in the woman’s eyes, he explained in brief, “Aralakh Relay, on its exit point into Council Space, went quiet. I led the First Coalition Fleet through and we encountered a small Reaper force. Only a Sovereign strong, with a wider support fleet.”

“Casualties?”

“More than acceptable, Commander. You don’t need to concern yourself with Aralakh system while you’re out there getting us more tonnage to throw around.” He assured her gently and firmly, the woman nodding understandingly at the words. Satisfied she’d been placated, the man turned sharp eyes on their attire and asked, “I suppose you made contact with the Rachni and Reaper forces, then?”

“The Reapers had occupied the planet and imprisoned the Rachni Queen, Sir.” She answered clippedly, “They bound her badly and forced her to breed Rachni young, which were then implanted with controllers that paired to dampeners in her ‘cell’ to override her ability to communicate with and control them. The scout flotilla the Krogan sent ahead also encountered transport Reapers, so it’s likely they had been harvesting Rachni warriors for some time.”

“So the Rachni are on-side, then?” Shepard nodded and Hackett made a sound caught between a sigh of relief and disbelief, and mixed with curiosity. “I’ll get the word out then, so we don’t have any problems here in Aralakh with her. We’ll probably give them a moon to settle on, assuming Wrex allows it.”

The old Warlord would allow, John was certain of that much. The Rachni were simply too potent as armies and construction support to consider refusing, and the Krogan knew better than to let old grudges ruin decisions today.

“Aralakh Company?” Hackett turned to him, now, and he blinked in momentary confusion at the question. Seeming to understand, and patient beyond what should be expected, the Admiral explained for him, “You were stationed with them in a sub-command role. You’re here to report on their status, Lieutenant Commander Doe.”

“Half the unit was wounded on arrival, and evacuated Utukku to the Normandy and then the Krogan flotilla.” He began simply, finding his feet as he spoke, adapting to the role as quickly as he adapted to anything. “Aralakh Company, under command of Urdnot Grunt, proceeded to march into the main hive entrance as far as we could discern it. In the first engagement, three Krogan were lost and our return route collapsed to prevent Reaper-Rachni pursuit. We discovered an underground cavern, likely somewhere between natural and Rachni-made, and Aralakh Company volunteered to hold the position to secure the Queen and Shepard’s escape while I went to find her with my clansman.”

“Your clansman?”

“Yes, Sir. Kralt Tartog.” His fist curled behind his back and Shepard saw it, giving him a concerned, sidelong glance. He forced it to uncurl and gave the woman an assuaging nod, continuing, “Upon our return to Aralakh Company, all but six remaining Krogan had been killed in action. Eighteen standing forces remain, considering the evacuated wounded previous.”

“You left your post to find Shepard?” He nodded and Hackett frowned, “That was dereliction in the loosest sense possible. I trust you had words for that, Shepard?”

“I punched him in the stomach.” She nodded, the old man snorting in amusement at the image that must have conjured. “Sir, officially, I want it on record I report against a dereliction charge of even the lowest degree. He secured a position and moved to secure a war asset.”

“A judgement call, then.” Hackett checked, the woman nodding quietly. “Understood. Then I will note it as a poor judgement call and nothing more, as per your recommendation as his superior officer. Now, the Rachni?”

“En route with Aralakh Company, headed for Tuchanka for reassignment.” She reported clippedly, “Requesting permission to move on to our next objective, Sir.”

“No rest for your men?” The man didn’t seem surprised at the request, but had to ask regardless, he was certain. 

“No time for rest, Sir. We need the Quarians, if not the Geth as well, for the war effort. Their construction and expertise in reusing old components is a must, here. There’s dozens of fortifications in Aralakh system that could be useful with the right hands to bring them up to par.” Old shipping stations, formerly civilian transport nodes, Tuchanka based fortifications long since needing repair and retrofits, and more. “Besides, we’re in the system, and my unit is still combat capable and willing.”

“Very well, Commander.” Hackett nodded, “Head into the Vale and see what’s going on. Best of luck, Shepard.”

“I didn’t say it down there, but I will say it here.” Shepard started once the holographic Admiral winked out of existence, turning to meet the man’s eyes. “I’m sorry that I punched you, I shouldn’t have done that. Just let the moment get to me.”

“I understand, Ma’am.” He did, really. Between everything that had happened the relatively minor flub on his part had pushed her a bit, and she’d lashed out. Far from the perfect soldier the Extranet sold her as.

“We good?” She spread her arms, asking for another one of her hugs, and smiled. After a second he sighed and stepped into it, letting her squeezed him warmly and grunt, “We’re good.”

“Hm.” He didn’t respond, but didn’t need to either. She lifted him into the air in a hug until he grunted and gave the side of her stomach a pat, and then she let him down and he asked, “May I be dismissed? I would like a nap before I set to work on my equipment.”

“Yeah, yeah, go get some rest.” She clapped him on the shoulder and he turned, headed for the elevator and - after a sigh- changing his mind on where he needed to go. 

“Ah, John.” Chakwas smiled when he entered the medical room, turning her chair to smile up at him expectantly. She set aside her datapad and her smile turned chilly and oddly knowing, looking him up and down for wounds. “So, what did you break this time, John? Not a leg, given you walked in her one your own.”

“Fractured a rib, I think.” He answered shortly, already regretting coming to see the smiling woman. 

“Ah? Then get that armor off and set it over there, I’ll help you sterilize it from the Rachni acid too once we tape you up.” She stood and, with a nod, he began doing as she commanded while the woman tinted the windows. Why, he found out after a moment when he set his weathered, trusty chest-piece in her gloved hands and she remarked dryly, “Ah, and we can have our therapy session, since you’re here already, while I get you treated.”

“Hm.” He turned an eye on the door, and it glowed a warm red as soon as his eyes landed on it for a moment before flickering back to green. A clear threat against any escape attempt, and enough that he turned back to the woman. 

“Thank you, EDI.” The woman called, the veteran soldier sighing sufferingly and continuing to remove his armor. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Okay yeah, Shepard smacked John for doing a dumb. He left her ‘baby boy’ - reference there if anyone catches it - in a bad spot, and did so against orders to boot. And given their standing among ‘Krogan’ a slug makes sense, in the situation and with everything going on. It will come up again later, so don’t stress it, and she didn’t hit him as hard as she could so he wouldn’t get hurt. 

Remember buckos, Paragade Shepard. She punches people when she feels they deserve it, even if they are friends. 

She also headpats Krogan warlords.

You know, normal Shepard stuff. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

That One Clone :

Yeah, noticed it later. Betas have been busy of late, so some things have fallen through cracks. Thanks, Google Docs autocorrect feature. You’re useful. 

Jack the Sparrow :

Tried to model it after that, actually. That you received it is a good shout, I feel.

7th Maniac :

Her ‘baby boy’ matter of fact.

Enji-Benjy :

The fight there was actually meant to be a taste of this chapter. Some action sprinkled in at the end, after the briefing, transport, unit meetup, mission plan phase, etc. I aim to make this story as down to Earth as possible. Er, down to Utukku, I guess? Whatever, you get the gist. These things are part of that and like their stealthing across systems and how I explained that, this is just that. And besides THAT point, merging this chapter into THAT chapter would have been a fifteen thousand word chapter. Which is thrice the old style’s regular amount, and nearly twice the new format I use.

I just can’t handle that, currently.

Also, space-based ladar functions differently in ME than planet-based. They measure the laser reactions to heat dispersal, since those image at further ranges and with less intensity lasers. So non-intense in fact as to be hard to discern from normal background radiation unless you know to look. 

However, Reapers can detect them, as demonstrated earlier in the chapter when Reapers respond to ladar and broadcast pings. 

The Real Mason Mac :

Negative. His entire arc is finding a new home and settling into it. The UNSC returning would… Kind of break that a bit.

Raptor 010 :

XD


	23. Chapter 23

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High Priest, Alvelvnor

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Acolyte, Espacole

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If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM one of us for details or join our discord. Server ,.for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, and remember to post a Review/Comment to let me know what you liked and didn’t. 

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(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

On the Krogan - now Coalition - side of the Relay, Admiral Steven Hackett sat aboard the Everest, watching from the viewport, watching the massive gouge in his ship being repaired from the battle a few days prior. A Reaper capital ship could easily destroy even an Everest class dreadnought, if it scored a direct hit, but he and his admirals all knew that perfectly well. Which was why he’d made the hard call and had destroyers and frigates body blocking any shots directed at their dreadnoughts, to preserve the firepower only dreadnoughts could carry. So when the Sovereign class in the battle had angled towards his ship, ignoring the shots ripping it apart from either flank, he’d not even needed to order a destroyer between them. The round still impacted, the smaller destroyer unable to absorb it all, but was mitigated and warped enough to only carve through several decks and then rocket off into space, never to be seen again.

‘A destroyer and a few hundred lives on both ships, just to mitigate damage… Ridiculous.’ He sighed and shook his head, sipping shortly from the little shot glass of bourbon he’d been gifted by the Primarch days prior. He really shouldn’t have been drinking while technically on duty, but, well… ‘It would be insulting not to drink it. And we can’t risk diplomatic relations, now can we?’

Idly, he turned and looked beyond the skeleton of the shipyard’s other half, towards the Relay itself. Two hundred kilometers out from the Relay, New Arcturus sat, a tenth finished now and swarmed with the boxy little construction rigs that space based workers used for heavy construction. Around it, more of the heavier exoatmospheric rigs moved a huge section of hull into place, built on Tuchanka in chunks and then spaced to be assembled into one single piece of reinforced exterior hull and then tugged to the station proper. 

The sparks and lights of hundreds of workers vanished behind it as they angled it into place, a hundred more workers sparking along the edges of the massive, sloped plate of white armored hull, working to fix it into place. Along the spine, where the massive oval of the station’s shape would divide, he already saw a tenth of the fighter hangars alight with lights. Inside, he knew, was a pressurized storage area where Alliance, Turian and the rare Krogan fighters pilot were waiting. Ready to pounce on anything nasty that came through the Relay. The center of the station was dedicated to that, hangars for fighters and bombers both whose job it was to defend the station, and for incoming shuttles for transport. 

Even as a skeleton, it looked like an egg split down the middle, metal yolk spanning between. But Turian design was Turian design, and while the aesthetic left something to be desired, the craftsmanship was absolutely undeniable. 

In a world of ‘it would do’ it was more akin to ‘it would hold’, and that was the best compliment he could pay it. Battlestation armaments, senatorial administrative wings on one corner, military high command on the other, and a science wing on the bottom, New Arcturus would be better defended, larger, and more important than ever before. 

Nothing to compare to the Citadel in size, but… In a few decades, as things were, it would certainly compete with an arm.

“Sir, the Krogan scout flotilla has arrived. Awaiting permission to Relay into Aralakh system.” His VI informed him, the man grunting an affirmation and turning to it, appearing in front of his desk in the Alliance office. The orange holo-man explained further, “The flotilla reports that its guest, codenamed ‘Hive-1’, has produced a small group of assets and seen too repairs to the ship en route. As such, they report ship-readiness for continued operation and await orders, Admiral.”

“Clear them to jump through, order them to move to location theta and await formal inspection. And to offload wounded and be ready to take on supplies as well.” He ordered shortly, already thankful that the Rachni were on-side, if only because he had a scout fleet he could turn back around and send out on rescue operations. “Put Grunt through the QEC channel, if… If they still have the goddamn ship we outfitted for it.”

He took a seat behind the heavy metal and glass desk of his office and set the glass and bottle both aside, not bothering to hide what he knew the Krogan warrior wouldn’t give a damn about. ‘Hell, he might want to try a sip himself. Not that he’ll feel any of it.’

“Admiral.” The Krogan grunted, his desk’s built in holo-displays still functioning enough to project an image of the battle scarred warrior standing across from him. Arms crossed, head cocked, and leaning his weight on one leg. Favoring it for the wound on his other by the looks of things, though the Admiral wouldn’t point that out any time soon. “What do you need, Admiral?”

“To check in.” And make sure, for sanity’s sake, that their fleet’s QEC still worked. Grunt was smart and skilled on a battlefield, but he wouldn’t put forgetting to mention the broken QEC past him. “How’s the Queen? Is she healing up nicely?”

“She’s just fine, nestled in the Urdnot’s cargo hold, healed up and well fed. Enough to pop out pups ‘n get our ship patched up with scrap and the like.” The Krogan shook his head and sighed, the sound sending static crackling across the connection. “Wrecked armored units, a few scraps of fighters we were haulin’ back for reclamation, cargo containers, never seen ‘em used the way the Rachni do.”

“Sounds useful.” Hackett grunted, mind already racing with ideas and plans he could make on how to capitalize on this particular advantage. 

“Ridiculous is what it is.” The warrior snorted, shaking his great head, and then meeting the admiral’s eyes, “But yeah. Also pretty damn useful. They converted scrap metal and cargo containers into armored plating.”

“I’m going to have a fleet of mostly derelict and unusable cargo ships moved to these coordinates, in high orbit over Ruam. She can live there, grow for a while until we come up with something better, and help with extraction of Helium-3 from the gas-planet.” The fuel would be damned useful, to say the least, and no one would mind giving that spot of space to the insectoid aliens to start growing. On second thought, in fact, “I’m going to order supplies delivered, so inform her she may begin construction of her own shipyard and orbital facilities as she wishes. Once ready, we’ll do the same for Vaul. She can settle the moons there. Barely habitable, by our surveys.”

“Cuz’ Rachni give a Varren’s ass about habitability, eh?” Grunt snorted, the Admiral shrugging uncaringly at the snide remark. They could give plenty of planets over to the Rachni, between Aralakh system and other, adjoining ones. “I’ll get my fleet headed that way, Admiral. Meet the cargo ships and offload this giant frickin’ bug to ‘em. Carry the crew with tme to Tuchanka. Unless you have marching orders?”

“Aralakh Company is Wrex’s command.” Hackett answered shortly, “Besides, you’ll need time to rearm and replace your lost warriors. Let Wrex know I can get you something if he doesn’t have anything himself, though.”

“Will do, Admiral.” Grunt nodded, asking after a second, “What, uh, what is Shepard’s next mission going to be?”

“Investigating Geth activity reports and looking for the Quarian Migrant fleet.” Between the Rachni and the Quarians alone, their ability to, quite frankly, bullshit together ships, weapons and infrastructure would be a beautiful sight to behold. And even discounting that, the addition to their Coalition before either the Council - who was, from what he’d heard, making moves to regain influence and prepare for the Reapers themselves - or, worse, the Reapers got them could only be a good thing. Looking at the Krogan and reaching for his glass, he asked, “Why do you want to know?”

“Curiosity.” The warrior grunted, the old admiral’s smile earning a low growl of disapproval before he snarled, “Grunt, out.”

Taking a sip from his bourbon he sighed and reclined in his chair, turning to watch New Arcturus’ continued construction contentedly. A new emotion, for the Reaper war at least, for him to profess to feeling. 

And the same could be said for his spark of hope.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Object on Utukku done, the Normandy had long since separated from the Krogan flotilla, after a single conjoined Relay jump. The only maneuver they made, it turned out, in comfort. The rest of the travel was completed as the legs to Utukku had been, with the thermal barrier raised and heat trapped inside the ship as they leapt between planets and large asteroids they could vent heat into without being seen. Which meant more long days and, eventually, weeks of travel in the incredibly hot interior of the Normandy. Bored weeks, though, with thankfully few settled worlds once they ranged close enough to the Perseus Veil proper.

Which meant no fleets to turn their backs on or worlds to watch burning as they slipped by, thankfully. So instead of morale shocking sights, they just had… Endless boredom, with nothing to do but sweat and wait. Particularly for the Commander’s specialist team, he found out quickly, minus Vakarian who helped maintain weapons and T’Soni who… Did whatever she did, that he didn’t know or want to know about.

Which brought Javik, finally bored enough, out of his room and into John’s room to speak about something, to alleviate the heat and boredom equally he was sure. And it wasn’t like he had many friends aboard the ship’s crew, in any event, so it made sense.

“Lances of particle energy are superior to ballistics of even Mass Effect in tearing through armor, and ammunition conservation. Two things important in combating the Reapers, a fact today’s primitives are learning quickly.” The Prothean warrior explained, sitting on a crate next to the ODST, working on his Harrier and wearing little more than his uniform pants and a sleeveless tee. 

The soldier gave the green, humming weapon a look and grunted curiously in thought, and Javik took the invitation to speak, “Its recoil is also nearly nonexistent, and unlike weapons your primitive allies have developed so far, it sacrifices none of its killing capabilities.”

“Harrier has plenty of punch to it, and I installed a recoil dampener so that’s no problem.” It was splendid as a weapon, and the sentimental part of him was glad to have turned it away from its crueler works to something better. Or maybe that was Shepard and, through her, Thane’s influence at work. He couldn’t be sure which, with their mixed up memories, and pushed it aside completely. “I like it.”

“I see.” The Prothean grunted, leaning back with it in his hand and giving the ancient, familiar weapon an affectionate pat, running his hands along its sides. The weapon, John knew, had gone into stasis with him, been altered after by him, and had been with him since a decade prior to his stasis. Amber eyes found his and, in a low voice, the alien murmured, “I suppose you would know how it feels to fire both, in the end.”

“Hm.” He did. He could, if he closed his eyes as he did then, remember it. The feeling of the particle rifle firing, lancing out from cover with a dozen Prothean warriors around him, and carving apart a charging Prothean husk. It fell and the memory flowed, his - Javik’s? - hand coming up and lancing out with green energy, whipping a stunted, mammalian thing through the chest and hurling it into its fellows. He grunted and turned to look at Javik, and added, “I do, yeah. When I try.”

“It is how the tactile memory transfer works, yes.” The alien nodded, smiling pleasantly at discussing something Prothean again that, John had to be honest, kind of intrigued him. If only for the direct effect it had on him, personally. “I have considered offering you more instructions, in that way, in truth.”

“Why?”

“I wish for my people to be remembered, I suppose. As they were, at least, rather than some…” He sighed and waved his hand in front of himself, like he was waving a stench away, and turned to watch him work on his Harrier as he spoke further. “My people were proud, dominating, and pure. I do not wish them forgotten.”

“Liara would be the bet for that.” He said shortly, reaching for a metal carving tool and picking up the casing of his rifle, setting to work carving his symbol into it. Why, he had no idea, beyond a strange… Wish to preserve it, his symbol, on the weapon he’d taken to. So that no one would ever mistake it for a Cerberus weapon. Sighing while he worked, he added distractedly, “I am not a historian, or anything like that. You want that, you want Liara.”

“Are you certain?” He asked, voice hesitant in a way the Prothean rarely was. “I feel she would not… Take to more intimate knowledge of my people and empire.”

“Any you gave me would be wasted.” He grunted with a small shrug, lifting the case of his rifle and blowing the shavings off gently. Inspecting the scarred in marks, and making a note to get it painted in before they hit the operation system, he went on, “Besides, I… Don’t like people being in my head.”

“I see.”

“No offense.” He assured the alien, glancing to him to watch the alien’s reaction. 

“None taken.” The ancient alien waved the concern off as soon as he saw it, and recognized it through their unique knowledge of each other, face flat and plain, and he shrugged in return, turning back to working his rifle in a fresh silence between them. Fresh, but amicable, he noted after a moment. Finally, Javik spoke again, “Do you ever feel as though, in combat, you know precisely what I will do before I even do it?”

“...Yes.” Many times he’d turned from an enemy, knowing where Javik was and that he would end it. It wasn’t a unique experience, time as a Marine and in ODST training both had seen him with multiple people he trusted as much in combat. The short time span, though, was somewhat perplexing, but, “I always just assumed it was due to… What happened, when you touched me. I know you, and you know me.”

“Better than any other way. Such was commonplace amongst my people’s military, tactile sharing so that a unit could move and fight as one body. One mind.” Javik smiled and nodded up and towards the middle of the ship, towards the Commander’s Cabin. “She and you are close and fight well together for the same reason. You know what she will do, and she knows what you will do.”

“Hm.” He’d noticed that. She was more open with him, more trusting and understanding typically, and trusted him under arms as much as even Garrus. Enough to trust her child, and it seemed species could be damned on that front, into his command and send them into a hellish fight. Sliding the casing over the rifle’s mechanisms, he opted for a change in conversation, “What do you think about the Geth and Quarians?”

“Synthetic life is an abomination, and the Quarians were fools to have mistakenly created them. Were they Protheans, they-” He cut himself off with a hiss of breath and bared his teeth, forcing his eyes closed to catch himself before he said something he might regret. After a moment, he spoke, low and fierce, but tempered with control, “The Quarians are needed for the Coalition to grow stronger, and with as many weaklings as it feels a need to save and hide, and the matter of time before the Reapers finish with this part of Space and move on, their ships will serve well.”

“And the Geth?” He already had a good idea of the alien’s answer, but wanted to hear the input regardless. 

“Artificial life is an abomination, as I have said. Their destruction is as needed as the destruction of the Reapers themselves.” Javik answered simply and flatly, as though it were the most blatant and obvious thing to say. An expected answer, but the ODST didn’t try to argue it. There’d be no point, he felt, in starting an argument. After a moment though, he blinked at something seemed to strike him and added of his own accord, “I know that your people fielded them however, and… Suddenly, I am less certain of that.”

“All things in moderation and properly treated will, in turn, bloom as flowers under sun and rain.” The words fell from his lips, but they weren’t his, and he blinked after a moment. Physically shaking off the memories from Shepard’s past, with Thane’s teaching, he grunted, “I’m sorry, that was-”

“An after-effect of the tactile bonding.” Javik nodded, “Some days, when one is bored and idle, their minds and those they have touched mix beyond the subconscious twists and turns that came with the bonding itself. Even among Protheans, such was a common problem, and soldiers would rest when it occurred.”

“I see.” It was normal, then, even if it was only really normal for an alien species and culture. Still, the normalcy of the experience put his mind at ease, which was nice. Even if it had only happened once, at least like that, it was still an… Uncomfortable experience, to say the least. “Is there a treatment for it?”

“As I said, merely patience and doing things you would normally seek to do. Particularly, though, things that I would not do.” He turned to the alien with a clear question and Javik humed in thought. “I do not know… Read some books, perhaps? Carouse with the crew? I would do neither and so that would push your idleness away and steer your thoughts to dealing with things related to you specifically.”

“I’ll gather some material and spend some time reading, then.” He was not going to let Shepard get wind of him wanting a ‘party’, or the reasons why. The Reapers would first detect the antics she’d get up to, and then flee from them before she somehow wrangled half their fleet into it. 

And not, he would wager, in the sense of the party being a battle. 

“We’re set to reach the Quarian home system soon.” Javik murmured idly, watching him finish piecing his Harrier together and exhange it for his new sidearm, a heavy Phalanx Garrus had gifted him. The lasersight he traded for a green one his VISR system would work better with, and then set to work on the internals, replacing the recoil dampener as always while Javik spoke, “According to the Commander’s brief-”

“I’ve read it.” The thing was only a few pages, detailing more what they didn’t know than anything else. To fill the silence and, as Javik had suggested, keep his mind from being too idle, he ratted off the cliff notes version, “The Migrant Fleet purchased enough ship-to-ship batteries to mount their entire fleet, as well as to make as battle-ready as possible a few dozen cargo freighters, old enough to be useless cruisers from mercenary companies and fighter wings.” 

“They also purchased ordinance for them and missile launchers, fighter craft, electro-magnetic-pulse torpedoes.” Even though they knew the Reapers were immune to them, the torpedoes available for bulk purchase precisely because of that. The Alliance, then the Coalition, and the Citadel both had learned that lesson fairly quickly and abandoned the age old tactics of EMPing enemy flagships to disable communications, if their GARDIAN systems didn’t hold up. “And then they gathered enough fuel for the entire fleet plus new additions, and that fuel trail ends at the borders of the Perseus Veil. Where a small number of ships are waiting for… Something, by scout reports.”

“Shepard also expressed that, perhaps, it is their knowledge we are coming.” Javik pointed out, the ODST nodding at the suggestion. “Beyond their increased intelligence network, they have thoroughly rearmed, as you said yourself. Which means war. Likely with the Geth.”

“Why now, though?” He asked quietly, the question as rhetorical as any other kind of question could try to be. Even if, as he thought for his own answers, he hoped Javik might offer some as well, “The Reapers should be more important, I would think. Normally, the Geth stay in their space and leave the rest alone.”

“They did fall under Reaper control, for a time, in the Commander’s first encounter with the Reapers.” And the rest of the galaxy’s as well, of course. There was a reason Reaper capital ships were ‘Sovereign’ class as opposed to anything else. “Purely pragmatically, it makes sense to rob the Reapers of this asset and reclaim their homeworld, as they have so wished for generations. It could also just be bad timing.”

“The reports did fail to detail when these preparations began.” And if they began before the Reapers arrived, the warhawks would only need a little bit of spin to continue into the war they wanted. He sighed and added, “Regardless, it looks like a war we’ll have to solve.”

“John, Javik, the Commander wishes to speak with you and the rest of the strike team in the cargo hold. Apparently, the Migrant Fleet Admiralty Board has made contact and there are details to be discussed.” The AI’s words chimed in at the most convenient time possible, almost like she’d been listening and waiting for the proper chance to interrupt. An unsettling but, frankly, rather likely situation to be the case. “Your arms and armor are unneeded, and in this heat not recommended. But do hurry, the QEC contact is still detectable on the Quarian end, and we are doing this while venting heat.”

Standing, they turned to head that way. A short trip, luckily, but the cooler air outside his quarters was something he looked forward to.

In the wake of weeks of intensive heat treatment, engineering had been on heavy duty, keeping the Normandy up and running. The cargo boxes remained, but now had been set up like a miniature refugee camp of sorts, with makeshift hammocks spanning wherever safely possible for the crew to catch their quick naps between repairing one subsystem or another. Dozens of fans had been set up as well, to keep workers and systems both cooler and operating properly, and in the back corner just outside Vega’s self-made quarters, a table and cooler had been set up where, even now with an important meeting across the way, exhausted workers, engineers and other crewmembers sat on low stools, buckets and crates, looking haggard and working their way through their rations and tins of water. Vega’s little pet project, to stay busy while they traveled, he knew. 

Across the Bay, opposite the Kodiak shuttle where Cortez’s legs could be seen poking out from under the blue box while he worked, the strike team had gathered. All were exhausted from the weeks of heat and travel, now, dressed in light clothes or nothing if possible. Like himself, Vega wore only his boots, uniform pants and an undershirt, and Shepard was the same with the addition of black sports underclothes no one cared could be seen. Garrus and Javik wore their loosest clothing as well, the former in a thin, silken looking thing with a low rim around the neck and Javik actually wearing Human clothing like the Commander’s own, to the shock of even the ODST himself who’d sat with him for some time now. Edi’s body wasn’t present for obvious reasons, but, somehow, Liara barely looked bothered beyond the sweat on her brow. 

Projected from the command console, a blue, holographic Quarian had stood waiting for them anxiously, hands wringing together. Shepard stood beside the hologram, ostensibly to lend the stranger to some of them an air of authority. But, just as likely if not more so, due to the fan right behind the red-haired woman. She nodded and introduced the alien admiral when they joined them, and then xeno the woman began detailing them in brief on what had been happening beyond the Veil.

“There have only really been a few skirmishes, so far, but the Geth are mobilizing into a larger, singular fleet as we move through the Tikkun system.” Tali finished her explanation, the young Quarian woman the admiral that had left the Veil to make contact with them when she, somehow, found out the Normandy had been tasked to find them and make contact. “Technically, the Admiralty Board is split on me meeting you when you arrive. Admirals Zaal’Koris and Daro’Xen are the only reason I’m here.”

“The heads of the Special Projects fleet, basically scientists and science ships, and of the Civilian Fleet. That name is kind of self explanatory, there, but hey. Lemme know if you need it.” Shepard explained with a small, tired but playful grin for all their benefits. Beside her, the blue, holographic Quarian nodded in an exaggerated, Quarian way in thanks when the Commander glanced to her. Turning back to her beleaguered squad, she continued, “According to Tali, the Heavy Fleet, their mainline military arm, is pushing hard for a battle. And while they can’t order the other Fleets into combat, if they’re attacked…”

“The other Fleets will be forced to support.” Tali finished for her, “It’s a way to circumvent the need for a proper motion and vote, a Conclave one or otherwise.”

“Why not just replace him if he’s pulling shit like that?” Vega asked, lacking his usual hispanic pejoratives and most of his charm for the heat exhaustion they all felt by now. “That kinda crap can’t be legal.”

“It’s his Fleet, and we don’t have a legal reason to strip him of his titles.” Tali answered simply, shrugging her thin blue shoulders with the answer. “If we could force a Conclave hearing and force in an Overturn, he could be stripped, but there’s no way we can manage that. And stripping him illegally would cause a civil war, which would be worse than fighting the Geth.”

“Which means we’re going to be joining this war, on terms that Tali will put forward for a vote to have the Quarians join the Coalition officially as a member state.” Shepard finished for them, the soldiers nodding in understanding. “Their fleets are important and large, their space based technological expertise unmatched, their salvagers the best in the galaxy, and their adaptability and loyalty beyond reproach. Does anyone have any questions?”

No one did, and after a moment, Shepard nodded curtly, “Alright then, get some rest. We rendezvous with Tali tomorrow, which means we will not be masking our heat starting in… Ten hours. Look forward to it, and be ready for a long fight. We’ll be retaking Earth and Palaven at some point soon, so consider retaking Rannoch practice. Understood?”

A chorus of affirmation went around the room and Shepard snapped a salute, crisp and clean, that was returned in various ways by her team. Then they were dismissed, and the young ODST turned and rolled his shoulders, stretching at the thought of the coming fights. And the research he would be doing into the Geth ahead of them, of course. 

The next fight was on the horizon, and he looked forward to seeing what the Geth could offer him.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)


	24. Chapter 24

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Official Supporters: 

Grand Priestess, Luna Haile -

High Priest, Alvelvnor

Priest, The Impossible Muffin 

Priest, Xager the Chaos King 

Acolyte, DigiDemonLord

Acolyte, Stonecold

Acolyte, Espacole

Initiate, Greg Gibson

If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM one of us for details or join our discord. Server ,.for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, and remember to post a Review/Comment to let me know what you liked and didn’t. 

So, Fanfiction will not let me link to discord. So, I apologize to every single FF reader for this, but please PM me for a join link. And please consider doing so, I enjoy chatting with you lot. On AO3, the link is viable : https://discord.gg/2UZncAm

Also, I have a twitter now, @ Ozpin Cane. Twisted Fate is 

If I could trick FF into thinking this is not a link here it is (delete the spaces and turn):  
D iscord . gg (slash) kfhkfUb

Betas for this story so far :

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

I hope you all enjoy the chapter update and the proper start of the Rannoch Arc, and hope you drop a Review and let me know what you think. But this isn’t for that. I wanted to offer a special congratulations to a friend of mine named Bill the Something, who recently became an uncle.

And I wanted to give him a special congratulations on chapters through the week.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“All crew, proceed to combat ready positions. All crew, proceed to combat ready positions.” He turned to the nearest intercom to listen, in case any instructions came for him to follow. But instead, the bridge officer carrying the command across the ship just repeated himself and added, “We will be Relaying into Tikkun system to engage Geth skirmishers. Quarian Civilian Fleet and Heavy Fleet escorts are engaged already, but be braced for damage shocks regardless. I repeat, expect combat shocks during engagement. All crew are advised to wear protective equipment where possible.”

On that note he turned and picked up his helmet, sliding it on with a comfortable, almost claustrophobic kind of familiar comfort. A quick press of a button on his ‘Tool had his armor running diagnostics, while he personally scanned around the scratches and shallow gouges scarring the plates around his chest and shoulders for breaches. The Rachni’s claws were sharp and hard, and had adorned his chest, back, thigh and shoulder plates in dozens of shallow looking, white-streaking claw marks and gouges. None of which, his scans told him, were compromising the integrity in any way. Still, he applied some Omni-Gel he’d been issued to patch in the holes a little. No more than a pinch or two across his body, and it took no time at all, but he felt much safe with the small application.

Next he checked his Harrier, loaded with a fresh thermal processor, Element Zero power cell and ammunition block, and tuned to perfection, holstered safely on his back. The same could be said of both his Carnifex and Phalanx sidearms, the former collapsed and attached to the bottom of his cot and the latter on his hip, ready and waiting. Armed to the teeth, he sighed and eased himself onto the floor, leaning against the wall between his makeshift maintenance desk’s crates and his cot, tucked his legs against his chest, and leaned his head against the wall to close his eyes.

If they needed him, they knew where to look for him. 

“Rookie! My man!” He blinked and sighed, turning to look at Vega trotting in, stacked in his armor with a helmet under one arm and a metal box under the other, the man dropping the crate on the ground across from the smaller Human with a grin. “S’our first time, goin’ into an engagement like this together, figured I’d bring you in on some good ole’ Alliance tradition, loco bastardo.”

“Hm?” He grunted, leaning forward and looking at the box curiously. “No alcohol. Might need to engage shortly, and having that-”

“Nah, nah, loco.” The large man grunted, kicking an empty crate from near the stairs over to sit on. Plopping down, the hispanic man grinned ear to ear, shaking his head wryly, “Maldita sea, estás tenso… It’s steak burgers with cheese, old Earth recipe.”

“Steak?” Where had the man gotten actual steak, of all things? “You have… Cheesesteaks?”

“Yep! Three each for us, some nice, clean water, and real maldito sodas, from the Citadel. Before, you know, shit went down.” He shrugged and pressed a button on the side of the white crate, cracking it open and sighing. “Ah, just get a whiff of that, Rook… Damn fine, damn fine.”

“Hm.” He shrugged and sighed, leaning forward and accepting the first of his smallish little subs, reaching up to click the release to his helmet after a second’s further hesitation. But in Engineering, inertial dampeners should be on anyways, so if they were getting batted around it was probably the ship going down… “Thanks for the food, Vega.”

“Not a problem, Lieutenant Commander Doe.” The man smirked, shrugging and ripping a chunk off his own with a groan of pleasure. “Ah, actual damn steak! I wonder if cows exist anymore, back on Earth…”

“No idea.” It wasn’t like the Reapers needed to eat them, or anything, so if he had to make a bet he’d bet they were. 

“To steaks of victory, then.” Vega chimed, pitching a black bottle of aluminium at him and grabbing one for himself, smiling. “The Geth first, then Cerberus, then the Reapers. Sound like a plan to go down?”

“Yeah.” He grunted, smiling slightly in spite of himself, raising the bottle slightly and grunting a low, heavy, “To victory. For Earth, and all of her colonies.”

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“Joker, what have you got for me?” Shepard asked shortly as she came into the cockpit, hand around the forearm of her armor, adjusting it as she looked over his displays. Beside and just behind him, she saw EDI, mostly still aside from her hands flicking across displays. Only a modicum of the ship management she was running, the Commander knew without asking. But when her pilot only grunted a non-answer, the Commander’s tone hardened, “Are we green or red, Flight Lieutenant?”

“Running last checks, Commander, that’s all. Heat played hell with some of the systems that weren’t fully retrofitted back on Earth.” Joker finally answered, grimacing as his bones protested the motion but turning to look at her regardless and giving the taller woman a nod. “Last minute checks and emissions purging, two more minutes and Engineering will be done. EDI?”

“Shield systems are uncompromised, externals scans shown both the additional Silaris brand armor and Alliance additions and repairs are uncompromised, and General Vakarian-”

“Whoa, whoa, Reaper sized whoa, Edid. Since when the hell was ‘stick up his ass’ Garrus a general again?” Joker interrupted, the two Humans in the cockpit sure that EDI was up on everything and that she’d have started with anything problematic rather than listing everything that was functioning. 

“I believe it was in conjunction with the Reaper Task Force’s absorption of command control in Aralakh System, prior to the curing of the Genophage, Jeff.” EDI answered, smiling the slight little smile she always did when she was amused at something, looking softly at the pilot. Shepard saw it and smirked knowingly, pulling her helmet on and clicking it into place before the AI could make a note of it. “The Primarch has since promoted him so that he may appropriate needed resources as he sees fit, to further the war effort. With his rank, he can draft any isolated Turian units or civilians into service, for instance, should he need it.”

“I mean, makes sense to do that, I guess… Still, Garrus? A General? That’s-” An icon popped onto the pilot’s console and he flicked it away, coughing awkwardly and jerking his head to the side with a small sigh. “All system reports in, Ma’am. All green across the board, fire officers report ready weapons.”

“Kinetic barriers raised, one hundred percent.” EDI added mechanically, even by her standards, as Joker began to orient and push the Normandy around for an approach vector, already anticipating the ahead full command. “Emergency barrier generators green on all decks. Breaches unlikely to destabilize hull structure.”

“Acknowledged.” Shepard snapped, turning and calling down the line of bridge officers, “All officers, sound off.”

“Communications, green.”

“Engineering, slight Eezo spikes in the core since we raised the barriers to combat levels. All manageable levels across the board, Ma’am.” Another answered, “Status green, Commander. Ready for combat deployment.”

“Gunnery decks report green.” The last officer down the line called back, adding after a moment, “Ready to rock and roll, Ma’am.”

“The Migrant Fleet, EDI?” Shepard asked, addressing EDI now, a hand on her chair and leaning over the AI’s console, bracing herself already for the Relay jump. Or for anything else that could go wrong, as few survivable versions of that paranoia as there were. “Are they in position? How’s the skirmish going?”

“Neither side has committed to an action as of yet. The Geth likely do not have sufficient numbers to risk an engagement so close to the Mass Relay.” EDI answered, eyes flicking as she simultaneously managed a thousand minor systems across the ship, assisted in the readiness of it, communicated with the Quarians and ran probabilities. “Likely reasoning is that the Geth as reported do not have a fleet of enough tonnage to quickly contain and eliminate the Quarian escorts. So close to the Relay, ships could drift on either side whether crippled, destroyed or neither and cause an Eezo arc reaction.”

“And when we Relay in?” Shepard asked, already fairly certain about knowing the answer but wanting the AI’s more intelligent confirmation regardless. 

“Likely they will move to engage, or retreat. It depends on when they detect the incoming and where they are. Too many variables.” The AI gave her an apologetic glance, barely a smile and a slight narrowing of her eyes, and Shepard waved it off. Turning back ahead, the AI asked, “Permission to Relay into combat operations, Commander?”

“Granted. Take us in, Joker.” She ordered, bracing herself with the chair and the wall behind EDI’s seat, hands gripping the former and one foot braced against the latter. Her cybernetics, as much as she despised their origin, were good and could take anything that came. So nothing else was needed, really. As they approached the Relay, and Eezo arced out to touch the ship and begin applying the Mass Effect, she let her eyes closed and murmured, “Arashu, Amonkira, protect us as we go into this hunt. And allow us to strike down those who we must for the greater good.”

“Jumping.” Joker warned, a moment before she felt the displacement and shift in gravity as they were hurtled through space towards the Quarian home system. Ten seconds of silence passed before Joker again warned, “Transitioning out of Relay influence into normal sublight speed in the combat zone… Now.”

The Quarian fleet had formed up almost four miles straight out from the incoming Relay transition zone, itself about ten kilometers or so in every direction in front of the Relay’s massive, curved end. The Geth had formed up on the other side of them, a few kilometers away with the sun on the backs of their ships, rows of three dozen of the same exact beetle-like ship formed into lines to meet the Quarians far more ramshackle, but no less organized or threatening, fleet of converted freighters, moth-balled and decommissioned warships and, in three cases, mercenary frigates repainted a dull silver and sporting Quarian iconography. These formed up in circles of smaller ships around bigger, and thusly more populous and important for fleet roles, ships in their centers. These formations then themselves formed one big circle of less important ships put forward, and more important ones put towards the Relay. 

A standoff in the blackness of space, three ordered, uniform rows of Geth frigates facing down twice their number of Quarian ships, to the last ramshackle and duct-taped together with heavy turrets mounted on top. All the cannons were of the same make and painted a dull, ruddy brown, to boot, which made the fleet’s smaller ships look like kid’s toys with tank cannons fixed to the tops. And the larger ships were made to look like the reverse, warships with kid’s toys taped to the tops and bottoms of their long shafts.

But as they emerged and the Geth fleet started to disengage, wary of reinforcements coming in rather than wanting to eliminate them, those shoddy looking guns and ships proved their worth. Each formation’s ships moved in tandem, forming clear lines of fire and targeting individual Geth ships as they turned and pulled away. 

Most ships utilized long, interior built cannons to better protect them and allow a higher ‘caliber’ round to be fire, and so engaged in staggered lines with their fronts facing the enemy. But the Quarians used heavy, top and bottom mounted battery turrets, which meant their formations didn’t need to alter and their ships didn’t need to slow or turn to fire.

Concentrated, long range battery fire lanced through the blackness of space like a thousand fiery asteroids, streaking into the rears of Geth ships en masse, a litany of Gardian-esque defensive lasers trying to blot out as many as possible. Silently, with the audio synthesisers still off for the moment from the Relay jump previous, the Human Commander watched as half the Geth ships’ shields sparked bright blues that mixed in a brutally beautiful display and burst in flares of distant violet, before the ships added a hue of fiery red to them. 

“Commander, orders to fire?” Joker asked, quiet for once as he watched the Quarians fire a second volley. This time, the majority of the rounds missed, the Geth ships rapidly withdrawing away from the Quarian ships. 

“Negative, Joker. They’re withdrawing, and we don’t want to force an engagement when we’re not entirely ready. We have the sector secured, so we should enjoy it.” Whether that was due to their losses or the Normandy’s presence, the Commander wasn’t sure. But as the Quarian ships began to break formation and move around the Geth remains to salvage what they could, she turned and called down the line, “Crew, yellow status. Maintain status until otherwise told.”

“Aye, Ma’am.” Chorused up and down the line and she nodded, watching them work for a contented moment before turning back to Joker and EDI. 

“Get coordinates from the Quarians for a rendezvous point, and get Vakarian and Doe up here.” Her XO and Garrus, for a friendly face for Tali at the very least. And an addition of having a technical representative of the Krogans, by adoption or not and a Krogan would likely rip anyone that tried to push the distinction in half, the Turians and Systems Alliance. “Have our Marines on standby as well, still, until we’re sure we’re safe. No one wants boarders, and we know the Geth might try. Remember the Battle of the Citadel.”

“Aye aye, Ma’am.” Joker grunted, nodding with a grimace at the memory. The original Normandy hadn’t lost any crewmen or infantry to Geth boarders, but other ships very much had. Other ships that the then young pilot had known, too. 

“Designated crewmembers are en route to airlock, and the Quarian shuttle carrying the Admirals coming aboard is on its way to us. We need not move from our position.” Which made little difference beyond a microscopic fuel differential. “I am calling Marine escorts to escort the Quarians into the War Room proper, and they will meet you there, if it is agreeable. Along with General Vakarian and Lieutenant commander Doe.”

“Good plan, EDI. See to it then, if you would.” The Commander nodded as the ship listed to the side, out of polite concern more than necessity, and a small, elegantly built and clearly Asari, shuttle came zipping towards the Normandy. With a sigh, she turned and called back, “I’m headed there, send a message if anything changes, and fall in with the Quarian fleet.”

“Aye, Ma’am.” Joker called after her, “Hiding in the middle of all the other fishies and hoping we don’t get shot, got it.”

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Standing opposite the door, with Shepard at his side and Garrus a few feet away at the console, arms crossed and gripping his carapace, the ODST watched the Marines drop off the Quarians and leave. The two were both women, in brightly colored, cloth covered hardsuits that reminded him, distantly, of ODST armor. He could see and read the armored seals, fluid transferral systems, layered, padded protections and more. 

As it turned out, only two Admirals had come to actually meet with them. The reasons were as obvious as they were numerous, on that front, from the basic nature of sending a small detachment to the Relay’s risks of destruction and the loss of the Admirals, to their need to keep in command of their respect fleets. So he’d not needed to ask after their low numbers or lack of escort, and simply nodded a greeting to them when their glowing eyes landed on him and his commander.

A brief exchange of hellos and the meeting was underway, or the first leg of it at least. Starting with proper introductions.

Admirals Shala'Raan vas Moreh and Tali’Zorah vas Normandy had come to meet with them, and brief them on the goings on in the system and the reclamation war both. Apparently, the Geth had been successfully pushed back to Tikkun in the early stages of the assault, probably due to surprise as much as the focused, sizable Quarian fleet being too much for any Geth fleet to handle. 

The push had ended in a decisive battle above Tikkun’s star, and the destruction of the bare skeleton of a Geth Dyson Sphere, meant to house more intelligence and networking systems to further Geth intellect throughout their space. A Reaper destroyer had arrived via Relay a few days later, shattered the Heavy Fleet defenses in the area, and vanished in the direction of Rannoch. Then had come the Geth retaliation, seemingly shaken by the losses incurred, in the form of the Geth super-dreadnought that had broken the Quarian advance in tandem with the intelligence upgrades. 

“We’re relocating to where the rest of the Migrant Fleet is located, our rendezvous already cost the Fleet it's access position to the Relay. And if we wait at all, then the Geth super-dreadnought will get itself between us and the Migrant Fleet proper. Isolated, our sub-fleet dies.” Tali finished, leaning on the holographic display in the war room and pointing up at their small detachment, currently cruising at the far end of the system, around and away from the combat still ongoing around the star. 

Hearing no questions after a moment, the Quarian woman went on, “There are mostly skirmishes, for now, while the Geth build up their forces and lock us away from the Relay. The super-dreadnought is broadcasting an electronic code that we believe is augmenting Geth intelligence and coordination, as well as bypassing our internal networking security.”

“My technicians have managed to create a VI system that can combat the hacking attempts around eighty two percent of the time.” And each failure meant a ship shutting down, the ODST didn’t bother pointing out. The second Admiral was a woman as well, though she sounded older than tali by a margin and spoke with a thicker accent. “Subtracting the super-dreadnought, our fleets are comparable, and we could withdraw or attack as we decided.”

“Withdrawal would be the smart option.” Shepard pointed out, leaning against the railing beside him with her helmet between her feet and a scowl marring her features. “I’m guessing that’s out of the question?”

“Until the super-dreadnought is destroyed, at least.” Tali answered, “Which we need the Normandy for. Boarding it and disabling its generators would shut down the wide-band signal broadcast and limit how many ships can use it, regardless of where the Reaper vanished to.”

“Doe? Vakarian?” Shepard asked with a sigh, eyes closed and two fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. “What do you think of the idea?”

“It’s batshit insane, obviously.” Garrus chuckled, shaking his head wryly and then shrugging dismissively with a short, trilling sigh, “But batshit insanity has never stopped a single person in this room before. Well, except for one of us, no offense.”

“None taken, I assure you.” Shala'Raan answered shortly, chuckling under her breath. “I’m more than aware of the insanity this ship’s crew get up to. You talked about it prolifically when you returned to the Migrant Fleet. Both times that happened, as a matter of fact.”

“Doe?”

“Infiltration of an enemy ship is a risky maneuver, and one only the Normandy or one of her stealthed shuttles can accomplish. But that would mean moving either you, Commander, in an easily destroyed vehicle or the Normandy entirely behind enemy lines.” He answered, staring at the dreadnought and the Geth fleet surrounding it with ships numbering in the low thousands while his mind raced. Sighing, he finally shrugged like his compatriot had and finished shortly, “It would save on casualties, and force a break in the fighting, though.”

“Assuming Zaal’Koris agrees not to pursue the Geth fleets when they retreat to Rannoch, and that Han’Garrel doesn’t try to pull out of the system all-together...” Tali grumbled across the room, sighing and pushing off the console. “I can coordinate the Fleet to distract them and the Normandy can separate from the sub-fleet and head from here towards the Geth. We board during the diversion and disable the vessel, and then evacuate aboard the Normandy.”

“You can’t mean to go with them.” The other Quarian asked in a low, cautious voice, “You’re an Admiral, even if in name only. You shouldn’t risk yourself like that.”

“I’m the resident Geth expert, and hacking their programming is a requirement to disable the super-dreadnought.” Tali argued simply, “So unless Garrus has learned how to maneuver a VI interface to bypass and control auxiliary motor control and disable-”

“I haven’t.” Garrus interrupted shortly, a single claw raised into the air along with his point. He let it fall when the other, older Quarian woman looked to him. “I… Didn’t catch half that, actually. So, yeah, not going to get this done without Tali’s help.”

“That was also why we took her into the field in the first war, against Saren. Her skills are just… Too in demand.” Shepard added gently, smiling sadly at the memories it brought. What specifically, the old soldier couldn’t guess without trying to recall memories not his own. Which was certainly not something to attempt right now. “I wouldn’t risk a friend and ally like that, and I will personally put myself between her and any incoming fire if need be to ensure she makes it back.”

“No she won’t.” The ODST interrupted, the red-haired woman at his side giving him an outraged look that he shrugged off uncaringly. Just as loud and unashamed, he explained simply, “I’m the expendable one here. A Turian General, a Quarian Admiral and the most influential Human in the galaxy aren’t. Anything comes against us we can’t handle, I’ll be the one in front.”

“Ah. I see, then.” It was perfectly reasonable, and a code of action he’d operated under for the entire duration of the war. But still, the way Shepard said the words sent a familiar chill and tremor up his spine, and earned a resigned sigh from the man as she spoke, “Regardless, she won’t be thrown to the wolves, I assure you. Should we need a rapid exfiltration, we’ll breach the hull and the Normandy can pick us up.”

“Then… I suppose I have no other choice.” The woman sighed, staring at the Geth fleet on the display and nodding in understanding. Of what, he couldn’t be sure, but the Quarian went on regardless, “Then as the operationally unaffiliated representative for the Admiralty Board, I approve this operation. Now, to negotiate terms for Coalition involvement and support.”

“We were told the Quarians were willing to discuss membership to the Coalition, in return for our assistance resolving the conflict at hand.” Shepard nodded, pushing off the railing and gesturing at Garris and he in turn, “Lieutenant Commander Doe and General Vakarian are accorded negotiating power for the Krogan and Turian species respectively.”

“How does a Human represent the Krogan warlords?” Tali asked, voice devoid of anything but simple curiosity and surprise. That honest wonder didn’t stop her wringing her hands together when he turned to look at her, quickly schooling herself and forcing her arms to hang at her sides, thumbs tracing circles slowly on her palms. “What I mean is that we don’t know the political field of the Coalition as it stands. We scarcely even know the member states, beyond the three you represent.”

“After the curing of the Genophage, for my own lasting support up to that point and for the Lieutenant Commander’s sacrifice-”

“He ran under a Reaper destroyer to summon the galaxy’s largest Thresher Maw to fight it for us, and got shot. Four times, if I remember right. Then he called it, got shot again and fell into the sand below.” Garrus interrupted, mandibles clicking and a low, vibrating trill echoing around the room as the alien shook its head and laughed. 

“After, yes, all that.” Shepard sighed, smiling slightly at the Turian’s antics in spite of the situation. “The Krogan officially adopted Doe and I into their clans and species. Only Urdnot Wrex himself, or a chief Warlord, could claim a higher right to be here then Doe himself. None would, given his status, but the point is made.”

“The leading members are the Turians, represented by the Primarch until… Things aren’t blowing up fairly regularly, I guess, Admiral Hackett until elections take place,” if, the ODST didn’t add outside his own head, “and the Krogan Chiefdoms, headed by Urdnot Wrex who, apparently, is building his own senate. Modelled after the Alliance’s, apparently. Even though the Coalition will have its own Senate, so I don’t-”

“There’s also the Volus, but they’re a client state of the Turians and so come as a package and are subservient to them wholly.” Shepard finished, interrupting her Turian ally before he could rattle off something else sarcastic and unnecessary. “As you have no client state status to speak of, you’d be an equal member. And as such, I have been told to bring you a suggestion you will not like.”

“And that is?” Shala’Raan asked lowly, head angled down and to the side in what he guessed to be a conveyance of wariness. 

Life inside a helmet meant facial expressions were useless, and so body and movement took the lead. He knew that well enough, even if his visor was translucent at the moment, most of the time it wasn’t. Thus his grunts, shrugs and gestures. Beyond himself, though, the usages of hand signs and gestures were born of the same reasoning and needs. 

“That you should withdraw from Tikkun and help in the war against the Reapers, first and foremost.” Shepard put it plainly but grimaced and held up a hand with a sigh, “But that was before the Reapers became involved. A problem of your own making but one we have to resolve, somehow, regardless of how it got started.”

“Giving the Reapers the Geth would bolster their numbers and give them an industrial base we can’t afford them having.” Garrus added helpfully, making clear that this was not a mandate for them to leave. “Our fleets, though, are tied up evacuating Turian and Human worlds, running rescue operations for Citadel worlds lost where we can, you know. War stuff.”

“Which means we have to destroy the Geth by ourselves, with what we have and nothing else.” Tali nodded, sounding… Resigned and beaten by the information, or something about it. Her shoulders were sloped in and now her hands wringed themselves together freely, the younger Quarian clearly upset by the idea. “Raan, we-”

“Have no choice, while the Heavy Fleet insists on staying in Tikkun.” She cut her fellow admiral off with a stern, but gentle and equally resigned voice. “The loss of the Heavy Fleet would doom the Fleet as a whole, without a doubt. We have no choice but to find our way through this. Through war or negotiations, whichever come, we can’t leave the Heavy Fleet here.”

“On negotiations, actually…” Shepard began, glancing between the two Quarians with a flat, expressionless face. “Have the Admiralty Board considered negotiations with the Geth?”

“The Heavy Fleet and Science Division both refused any negotiations or diplomatic overtures.” Tali answered, hands curling into fists against each other, fingers clenched so tightly he would almost swear he heard the material protest. “The Geth attempted to hail us up until we came into the Tikkun system. Judging by the Reaper arriving, I can guess why that was.”

“We have to disable the Reaper signal, then.” Shepard pushed, moving to the edge of the holographic display of the system and pointing at it. Or rather, at the glowing red icon that showed where, precisely, the signal was originating. “If we disable it, I can make contact with the Geth myself. As a representative of the Coalition, with Doe, Vakarian and Tali, we can make an overture.”

“The heavy fleet-”

“Will be outvoted if the Geth agree to a peace deal.” Tali cut in suddenly, moving to Shepard’s side and pointing at the Migrant Fleet. Or, at the cluster of liveships at the back of the formation, shielded by the Heavy Fleet, Civilian Fleet escorts and even Science Division frigates. “The Conclave can vote against the Admiralty Board, and agree to a peace deal too, if the Geth offer one. Even if the Heavy Fleet and the Science Division both refuse and vote against it, they’d lose a refusal referendum.”

“Then that’s what we do.” Shepard concluded, before Raan could argue. Or admit defeat, for that matter, either way it was the same. Giving the older Quarian a look, Shepard asked, “Is that amenable to the Migrant Fleet? Peace, if possible?”

“I… Yes.” She finally nodded, sighing but sounding far more relieved and hopeful as she spoke. As she planned, rather. “I will speak to the Civilian Fleet and begin making overtures to the Conclave. When the time comes, you will have the votes, so long as we have a home to finally come to. Even the Heavy Fleet will bend to the people’s will, if Rannoch is poised before them, waiting for them to land.”

“Team, to the Engineering Bay. I want each of you outfitted with a hardsuit that will seal the atmosphere.” Her eyes landed on John’s exposed finger on his right hand and she met his eyes, offering a small nod. “Our first great charge was for the Cure, and now we fight for Rannoch. Are you ready, John?”

“Ma’am.” He saluted, the Krogan way this time instead of the Alliance or UNSC way, a fist pounding into his chest plate harshly. He was a krogan after all, in all but genetics, and it would pay to sell that. With a nod, he finished, “For Rannoch.”

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Nlong :

I heartily recommend speaking to Javik all the time and getting to know him. He is layered in such sorrow and tragedy, and a willingness to change once you confront him on things, that I find myself a fan of him. He’s kind of like Jack, or Miranda, really. Rought, harsh and cruel seeming at first, but once you wear them down… A good person, at their core.


	25. Chapter 25

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Made a mistake last chapter and reversed the Heavy and Civilian Fleet names. I apologize. Going forward, the names will be correct, assuming I don’t fuck it up more, lol. For context, Admiral Zaal’Koris vas Qwib Qwib leads the Civilian Fleet. Admiral Han’Gerrel vas Neema leads the Heavy Fleet. Apologies for any and all confusion caused by my mistake.

Credit for the correction to Spacetaz.

Also, this chapter is less ‘action’ and more ‘stealth infiltration’ so… Hope it turns out good, I guess? As always, drop your input, so I know whether to do this kind of thing again.

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“Nope, no, nuh uh, hands off the goods. You can barely fall down without swapping galactic addresses, you don’t get to help the perfectly handicapable lord of this little castle to his seat.” Joker snarked when the armored ODST offered him a hand into the Kodiak. Hands held high in surrender, he backed away from the lightly armored, hardsuit wearing man and Tali took his place, offering the pilot a gentle hand on his bicep and ribs to support him. Smiling, he nodded gratefully and practically dripped sarcasm, “Thank you, Lady Tali.”

“You’re very welcome, Joker.” The Quarian responded, waving a hand towards the door with an over-dramatic flourish, head bowed slightly in faux-reverence. “Your, er, your throne awaits.” 

“I give up…”

“Ignore it, John. You’ll end up used to it either way, Joker’s starting to like you.” Shepard suggested, sliding by him into the Kodiak, one hand on his chest so she wouldn’t fall while the other slid her helmet over her bright hair. Voice muffled by the armor, she added, “Joker’s an ass to the people he likes. Bigger the ass, the more he likes you.”

“I will have you know I am a leg man, thank you very much, Commander!” Joker called from the cockpit, laughing brightly along withTali, Garrus and the Commander herself and then finally coughing to clear his throat. “Gotta familiarise, give me… Oh I dunno, Cortez, how long will it take to get me a taco or something?”

“I dunno, I’d say a minute longer than you have.” The normal pilot answered, checking the engines of the shuttle over and asking, “You sure you want to pilot? I’m more than trained on this, you know, and you’re… Rusty.”

“Hey, I’m the best pilot in the Alliance. Got a little sticker and everything, so don’t known the wings, alright? And don’t call me Rusty.” The darker-skinned man shook his head and sent his gaze skyward, searching for and failing to find help for dealing with the man, and Joker went on. “The Normandy is hanging back to support the Migrant Fleet’s offensive, and EDI can handle that. The Kodiak, though, needs the best pilot around and, no offense, but I have experience skirting Geth patrol lines and sensors.”

“I only flew fighter jockey against ‘em, yeah. And even then, only once or twice, never even did a shuttle drop back when Saren was active.” Cortez nodded simply, ever the professional even now. With a barely contained, muted sigh, the man blew air out his nose and asked, “You have everything handled in there, or need a rundown on the systems?”

“Rundown.” Joker quipped instantly, the voice echoing out of the cockpit and back to where the man was standing. “Will be faster any way, and got a deadline to meet on this one for the plan. Gotta deliver the special surprise inside to the Geth before thirty minutes, or it’s free. And they’ll take my tip. And not the fun tip, either, that’s only for-”

“Do not finish that sentence, Jeff, or I will delete your special archive.” The AI chimed through the cockpit and Kodiak personnel compartments both, sounding as threatening as she sounded amused. Joker held up his hands in mock surrender while Cortez slid into the seat beside him to walk him through it and the AI waited while the team took their seats. Armor locked, sealed and weapons stowed, to the last at the ready for the mission, the machine began to speak, “I am coordinating with the Heavy and Patrol Fleets currently. The Civilian Fleet will be in close support of the main engagement, so their liveship’s heavy, dreadnought class weaponry can lend the more potent support.”

“They’re sending the Liveships into battle?” Garrus sounded shocked, and the ODST could sympathise. He knew what they were, essentially floating cities drifting through space, where the majority of food growth and processing was run and where most of the oxygen was produced for the fleet to use. “Even in a supporting role only… I don’t know, it seems way too dangerous.”

“If the Fleet loses and the Geth counter our operation, then the Liveships will be destroyed regardless. And when that happens…” Tali shrugged, fingers playing with the intricacies of the blocky, gently humming pistol she held. Stilling, she glanced up to Shepard and nodded her head, “If that happens, then the Quarian people are already dead. The liveships being armed doesn’t really matter in any event.”

“Beyond a chance to hit back, as petty as that would be when surrendering would be better.” Shepard nodded, giving a tired shake of her head that Tali answered in a shrug, the Quarian woman apparently in agreement. “Or running, for that matter, if you all get the chance. The Coalition would gladly accept the survivors, but… Quarians are bit too loyal for deserters to abandon the Fleet and Rannoch both.”

“Loyalty isn’t a bad thing to have.” He’d seen the damages of dissidents firsthand, after all, and knew what a lack of discipline and order could cause. The Insurrection had, according to rumor and facts both, led to many worlds falling by undermining UNSC loyalty and power, unintentionally paving the way for Covenant devastation. After a moment, he concluded equally as simply as he’d started, “We won’t need to worry about that, though.”

“Why do you say that?” Tali asked, accented voice colored with a kind of curiosity he’d only seen in children. 

And, well, Shepard.

“Running, sheltering in Coalition space, it all assumes we’re going to lose.” He shrugged, leaning back against the rear of the shuttle across from the two women, Garrus at his side giving him a look. Again, he shrugged, and explained with a wave of a hand, “We’re going to win, so all this conjecture is pointless.”

“You heard it here first, folks. Just win the greatest war in any single one of the galaxy’s species histories, simple as that.” Joker called back, having been half-listening to their chatter as he seemed to always be doing. The team around them snickered and the ODST sighed, the man adding after a moment, “Green up here, Commander. Running last system checks and we’ll be going into the black.”

“You heard him, boys, girls and ugly ass birds-”

“Love you too, Commander.”

“-that was the last call. Check your armor seals, hardsuit lines, and ammunition counts. We’re boarding a dreadnought.” The Commander finished, taking the moment to be the first to start running checks and reaching up, scanning her body from the head down with her ‘Tool, twisting and turning to get every last inch of her body. 

Around them, the others did the same, but no one matched the Commander’s fervor and border-line paranoia, rescanning each and every inch a half-dozen times before finding contentment. Save, of course, the ODST, whose psyche had forever been scarred with a death by being vented into space. The source of both their paranoias, in this case.

But John wouldn’t mention it, and no one else seemed inclined to note it either, so he let it go and began rescanning his helmet.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“We’re alongside the dreadnought now, no sign of detection yet. Matching dreadnought drift and sealing cockpit compartment, Ma’am.” Joker reported after several quiet minutes of the shuttle weaving through the fleets, first the Migrant Fleet and then the Geth. 

Both had been equally unable to track them, of course, and the resulting maneuvers had been stomach churning almost for the occupants of the little blue shuttle. Even the orbital-drop hardened ODST found some of the twisting and turning to be challenging, though only just. Nothing more than a rougher than ideal drop, to him, and the same discipline could be seen throughout the compartment. Stiff shoulders, bowed heads, and chests rising and falling deeply and slowly as they steeled themselves against their reactions. 

“Everyone ready for this?” Shepard finally asked, pulling her Avenger, retooled for the closer quarters to be expected inside a ship and thus lacking the longer range scope in favor of a heavy barrel suppressor. Standing beside the door that would soon open for them, she glanced between each of her men in search of their confirming nods. Returning the gesture, she banged a fist on the wall dividing the compartment from the cockpit, “Joker, we’re green. Start storing the atmo.”

“Aye, Ma’am.” The voice crackled over their communication links. 

Normally, he’d been told, the communications would be banned so near a Geth fleet. But unlike normal communications, these suites had been hardlined into their helmets and run through the shuttle’s communication suite that itself was looped through the Normandy’s Quantum Entanglement Communication core. The Geth would still detect the transmissions, if they were paying attention, but thanks to the QEC integration they’d think it was coming from the Migrant Fleet’s general vicinity. Rather than the heart of their own fleet.

“Atmo exfiltration and compact storage starting on my mark.” Joker finally warned, waiting a last few moments for the squad to prepare itself and acknowledge the information. “And… Mark.”

Around them, located in the corners of the Kodiak and nestled where the walls met the floors and ceilings, little vents began to hiss. Sucking the air back in, just as easily as it had blow it out, to depressurize the compartment. After nearly a minute, he felt the distant, muted chill of vacuum overtaking him as the ability for heat to be transferred vanished without an atmosphere to conduct it. The sensation lasted barely a half-minute before his armor’s interior tweaks and systems kicked in, the matte black undersuit he was wearing heating in response to protect him from the chill that tried to bite through it.

“Atmosphere vented, reading standard black temperature readings.” Joker reported once the process was done, long, long after the sound of the ventilation hissing had faded away. Not enough atmosphere to conduct the sound, he knew. “On your order, Commander, I’ll open the compartment to the black and you can conduct your space walk-assault.”

“Tali, I hate you so much for this plan of yours… Absolutely hate you. Not even fucking joking.” Shepard snarked for a moment, shoulders rising and falling as is readout on her vitals registered a rapidly rising heart rate. For a moment, she paused, fingers drumming on the side of her rifle in a rhythm he knew from her memories to match a Drell prayer for mental sanctity in the face of old scars and pain. Finally, voice tight and edged, she ordered, “Open the compartment, and make the standard logs on protocol violation. Team, prepare for boarding action.”

“Aye, Ma’am.” The team, Joker included, chorused curtly in cool military fashion. 

A few seconds passed before, soundless and featureless as befitting the vacuum of space, the door across from him lifted into the void, the Turian and Quarian sliding away in the zero-gravity environment, grabbing the edges of the door carefully and holding themselves there. Beyond, he could see the seemingly endless dark blue of the Geth dreadnought’s smooth hull. On the other side, he knew, he’d have been able to see the majority of the Geth Fleet engaging the Heavy and Patrol fleets, the massive, bulbous liveships beyond hurling long range dreadnought fire into the fray as Geth and Quarian lines interlaced in an almost purely distractionary knife fight, albeit with knives the size of some small towns. 

“Gentle leap, don’t run or kick off too hard or you’ll smack into the hull and could hurt yourself.” Or crack a visor or seal, or even trigger some kind of motion alarm if the Geth had taken security that far Garrus didn’t continue. As unlikely as any of that was to happen, it was worth mentioning regardless. 

“Garrus, you take Tali and go ahead.” Her localized jammer would lock out any sensors that might pick them up, as they were clearly not moving like debris right now. 

The duo nodded and turned, pulling themselves around and onto the outer hull, then gently pushing with their feet. They landed on the Geth hull gently, gripping each other and simply floating, just trapped enough by the massive ship's gravity to stay in place but not enough to pull them against the hull. Satisfied it was safe, and Tali’s blocker was working, the woman waved an alien hand and the two Humans mirrored their stunt, this time being caught by their fellows waiting for them. Turning, they watched the Kodiak seal up and pull up and away, aiming high to find a safer spot to wait on their return where the Geth ships couldn’t turn and ram them.

“There is a hull maintenance hatch this way. Stay close, the proximity sensor jammer won’t reach terribly far away.” Tali said quietly, turning weightlessly and pulling herself along using the minute protrusions and armor intersections, as well as mag-locks in her knees and feet, to find purchase. 

Almost fifteen minutes passed, long and tensely quiet, the soldiers taking their time to avoid any potentially, or rather almost definitely, lethal mistakes. But they made it, at least, in the end.

Their final destination was a simple round hatch, barely protruding from teh hull around it and with no manual way to open it. Ostensibly, that was a security measure and a species oriented difference both, in that organics would be unable to open the hatch normally, without hacking that most would fail to hide or something to break through the hardened armor plating and get in. Meanwhile, Geth could simply interface with it universally to gain access, with no fuss or mess to speak of.

A world of difference, there, and an advantage set on a species level that simply couldn’t be ignored. 

“I’ll run the bypass.” Tali stated simply, drifting beside the door with Garrus on her other side, one taloned hand grippping the thin groove around the hatch while the other hovered near the Quarian. Lit by the orange glow of her ‘Tool, she added in a quieter voice, “Just give me a minute or two…”

“Just get it done.” Shepard snapped, shoulders tense and off hand curle dinto a fist so tight he wondered if she might rip through her armor’s seals from the force of it. After a split second of silence, she added in a weak, but somehow still edged like a razor, voice, “Sorry, I just don’t like it out here. Too open.”

“I understand, Commander.” Tali murmured, distracted and simultaneously worried for the woman, fingers flicking across her glowing interface’s surface like lightning. “I’m working as fast as I can, I promise, just… Hang in there, please, Commander.”

“Yeah just, uh…” Garris floundered for a moment, no doubt grimacing behind his mask at it, and finally sighed, “Just sit tight. Will be over before you know it, so just-”

“I’m fine.” She cut him off, pulling herself closer to the ship, as much as she could at least, and turning her head to stare at it. “Just… Just fucking drop it, alright? I’m a grown ass woman, s-so I’m fine. Just let it be.”

Silent as ever, he settled in behind her, less thana foot from her back and poised like Garrus was. One hand gripping the hull where he could find purchase to, and the other hovering near the Commander’s hip in case she was jarred away. For a full three minutes they floated like that, the Quarian’s agitation slowly showing more and more in her body language through the duration.

“Bosh’tet!” The Quarian shouted finally, flicking a finger to the side and throwing up another quartet of interfaces. Each crawled with code that flew by faster than he could discern. “Come on, come on… Where is the hole…”

“ What’s wrong, Tali?” Shepard asked lowly, looking to the side as a streak of fighters screamed mutely by. Close enough that, if Geth used windows - he had it on good authority that they did not - he was certain the pilots could have seen them floating there. The Quarian didn’t answer and, in a more firm, demanding voice she repeated, “Tali, what is wrong? Is the bypass software not working?”

“No, it’s working, but something else is blocking it on a base code level. It responds to what I’m going to do as fast as I do it, like-like it knows what my intentions are. It knows my code, Shepard...” She answered finally, violet eyes flicking across them worriedly. Panic lacing her tone, and the way her fingers curled and her legs tucked under her, “I-I can’t get us in.”

“Fuck!” Shepard shouted, reaching up to touch her helmet and contact Joker on the short band, their hardsuits unable to use the QEC’s systems so far from the Normandy. Which meant that, technically, there was a risk of detection, though only a small one. But for an emergency exfil, it wouldn’t matter, “Joker, this is Shepard. We can’t get through the-”

Suddenly, and with as little warning as sound in the vacuum of space, the hatch broke into a dozen triangular segments and slid back and in, out of view into the walls. Inside was a simple, cylindrical room with another door a couple feet away from the space-side one, the room lit in a bright, sterile white. Humans lit in reds to play to how their eyes worked, but such was not how a synthetic would work, and making all lights a simple, sterile white would lower production costs, he supposed.

“Hold, Joker.” Shepard murmured across the multi-channel, turning to Tali and asking, “Thoughts?”

“I’m not detecting any alarms, and the ships out there aren’t reacting either. It could be a trap, but there’s no reason to trap us.” Out in space, even if a missile missed it would still kill them by sending them pirouetting into the black abyss to suffocate or freeze. So there was no reason to let them in. “I’m also not detecting movement inside, and… And my bypass systems are working now.”

“What did you change?” 

“Nothing, Garrus, that’s the thing. Whatever was fighting me just…” She waved a hand at the open hatch, and the brightly lit room beyond, to make her point. “It just stopped fighting me, for no apparent reason.”

“The Coalition needs this, regardless of if it’s a trap or not.” John responded when Shepard turned slightly to look at him, the man grabbing her hip and using it as an anchor when he pushed off the hull, spinning in front of her and drawing his Phalanx in his left hand and gripping the edge of the door with the other, using the dominant limb to peek around the corner. Finally, he concluded, “I’ll take point, you all stay staggered a couple feet behind me when we advance. Something happens, evacuate the admiral with an exfiltration charge. Acceptable?”

“And you’ll follow.” Her statement brooked no argument and so, in spite of his own knowledge he very well probably would not be following them in that case, he nodded. 

“Then it’s acceptable.” At that, the woman turned to Garrus, “Rook, you’re first, ping the walls with your VISR system and see what you see. You’re second if it’s clear, Vakarian. Tali in front of me, and I’ll take rear. Have demo charges on me in case this is a trap, so we can blow the hatch and exfiltrate immediately. All copy?”

A quiet chorus of various kinds of affirmations sounded across the line before Joker closed it, mitigating the minor risk of the Geth checking the random shortwave signal in the rear of their fleet. Inside, the ODST’s VISR pinged around the walls, highlighting the electronics in and around outside it in search of discernible bombs or signal bursts. Seeing none, he waved them in and stepped closer to the door, leaning against the wall perpendicular to it while Tali slid against the other to run her bypass. 

“Opening now, the bypass worked this time, no hitches.” She warned, just as the door did as she’d said it would, the other sealing behind them. The ‘Trooper was through inside a moment, Harrier snapping left and then right warily. 

The access hallway was, as expected, merely an access hallway. Ten feet to the right and left before ending on both sides in heavy bulkheads meant, he was sure, to prevent structural collapse if the accessway was breached. Or, in this case, in case the Geth detected boarders using the access port to get into the ship. Tali settled in behind him, kneeling and checking her scanned map of the ship, and Garrus took her other side, watching one door while the ‘Trooper watched the other. The walls of the passageway were smooth, as the outside had been, and the soldier guessed that was to prevent decompression complexes. 

It was like the access-way was just one big, double-set airlock system. 

“The other room is pressurized, brace.” Tali warned, the soldiers kneeling and pressing together, Shepard in front of the Quarian and the other two leaning back. After a few moments, the alien engineer murmured, “Opening now.”

Wind rushed by, mute at first as the atmosphere collected and then whooshing gently as it quantified enough to carry sound. After a few seconds the ODST stood and slid around the group, taking point and striding to the left side door while the squad arrayed itself behind them. The room beyond was wide and tall, crossed by piping and ventilation as well as lined by what his inexperienced eye recognized as thermal banks for weapon cooling. What weapons, he couldn’t guess, but the outer hull was lined by them, and the pipes and ventilation systems carried around the room into other towers of blocky storage banks, to keep the weapon and system heat locked inside safely so they didn’t need to compromise their kinetic barriers to vent.

And of course, they’d boarded in the midst of battle, and the Geth fleet had directed heat storage to the safe side of the ship. Which meant that the atmosphere in the area was easily bordering a hundred degrees, just from what escaped the glowing, orange banks of the heat-sink room. Getting through meant ducking, crawling, and vaulting over steaming lines of heat banks and pipes whose heat had the atmosphere around waving, like the horizon of a desert. Not fun, but this direction would likely be safe and let them make some space between here and the back of the ship where the Reaper signal was being boosted. Unless they could find another way…

“We continue along the hull like this, and we should be fine. Sensors don’t work for long when in this kind of heat, and only a couple Geth signatures were ever detected by our probes or LR scanners.” Tali explained, sounding perfectly comfortable in her no doubt at least mostly climate controlled hardsuit. “It should only take half an hour if we hurry.”

“And hurrying is kind of demanded, with the fleets engaged like this.” Shepard sighed, sounding agitated and all-around exhausted already, Avenger slung across her chest. She pointed ahead of them, at a door across the room beyond pipes and banks they’d have to make their way around, over and under, and finished, “Let’s get moving, then. Double time.” 

A half-hour long frog march through Geth heat-banks it was, then.

When they finally left the heat-banks, it was to step out into a twenty foot wide, thirty tall hallway that, according to Tali’s maps, wrapped around the hull of the ship. In the center, a large divot was set into the ground, small blue generators sparking gently all along its length in either direction. Thin struts, with wires and small, black balls Tali helpfully identified as - blocked, of course - sensor suites that monitored the tram system that rushed goods around the ship, from ammunition to spare parts and even to Geth when the need for a personal job came about. 

“We were going to use this passage to get up here, but…” But whatever Tali’s software had run into, she was avoiding sensors she didn’t need to play with. In the heat-sink bays along the axial spines of the ship, they were mostly useless, but here? They could be detected, and she was anxious for that, now. “From here, we should have direct access to an adjoining section of the ship, and through that will be the command deck.”

“Both of which will be heavily crewed.” Shepard cut in coldly, giving the trip a look. “Disruptor rounds, and aim for the limbs. Geth have redundancies, so it's easier to cripple them badly enough to leap out of their bodies than to try and destroy them outright.”

“Learned that fairly quick, back in the day.” Garrus nodded, sounded more energetic than the two Human soldiers, owing to his natural inclination to the heat. After a second to roll his shoulders in preparation for the coming fighting, he added, “They have little lights for faces, too. If you can pop them, they freak out, for some reason.”

“It’s a sensor suite.” Tali explained, sounding exasperated in a way that told him she’d explained that quite a few times already. “When it goes out, their sensors go with them while they route to backups. As a result, there’s feedback, which causes the spasming and jittering. Newer models are working around that, though.”

“Yeah, well…” The Turian hefted his Phaeston and chuckled dryly, patting its side, “We’ll see about that, Tali.”

“Focus, the both of you.” Shepard ordered, voice laced now with as much amusement as frustration, tension and heat-driven exhaustion. Still, as a soldier ought, she drilled through it and moved to lean against the wall beside the door Tali had marked on their HUDS, a little blue circle indicating it. He moved to the other side and Garrus, Tali’s bodyguard now, moved with her to stand in front of it, the woman’s fingers flicking across her ‘Tool screen. “Can you access the sensor system well enough to gauge the opposition?”

“Already did, there’s several Geth platforms on the other side of the wall. Thirteen of them, in fact. Only...” The Quarian paused, eyes flickering across her Omni-Tool’s readings, before she glanced to the Commander again. “The same resistance I met before is back, now, but… It’s not resisting me.”

“How can you tell it’s there if it’s not doing anything?” The Turian asked, looking at the screen for a moment before shaking his head, unable to read the rapidly flowing Geth code. 

“I keep seeing the same code-string, from the blocks I was seeing before.” She answered simply, fingers flicking across the screen at what must have been instances of it. Voice curious and cautious, she went on, “But it’s… Helping us. Supporting my bypass on the sensor suites, jamming the platform’s radars- There, it just cut communication lines and put their outbound on a loop. The platforms can’t call for reinforcements.”

“Why is it helping us?”

“I-I don’t know, I keep launching inquiries and getting ‘No data applicable’ as a response.” Tali shrugged, closing her interface. “We had Geth divergents back in our fight against the Collectors, Legion called them Heretics,” that word had connotations and brought up memories for the ODST, who tensed but let it go while the woman went on, “so maybe this is the same. Geth that don’t agree with the Reapers.”

“And maybe they know we,” Shepard gestured to the two aliens and herself, “worked with a Geth before. Hence letting us in when they’d been locking us out, which means they have security access.”

“A Geth schism…”

“We’ll mention it to the Admirals once we’re out of here, but for now, we have a job to do.” She raised her voice and reached up to touch her ear, activating their shortwave again, before adding in a moderately hopeful voice, “Maybe our friendly Geth has enough control to get some atmosphere in here for us? Some of our ‘Tech abilities work better with it!” 

The quartet waited for a very short time until, just as they’d given up and began forming up for a breach maneuver, they heard a faint hissing sound. 

And hearing the sound meant that there was atmosphere to carry it. True enough, when they checked, they registered rising oxygen and nitrogen levels on a standard galactic trend. Whatever was helping them had begun filling the tramway with atmosphere just as they’d asked, and the squad exchanged an unsure glance at the realization and the confirmation that it was a Geth doing all of this. 

From the wary glances and narrowed, hard eyes he saw through his team’s visors, he wasn’t the only one uncomfortable with the fact.

“Everyone, breach the room and clear passage for the Admiral.” Shepard ordered, in spite of the grumbling Quarian’s complaint about the term and treatment. “John, Garrus, point. In and sweep, I will follow, Tali will provide support. Copy?” A chorus of affirmations, and the woman nodded in response. “Then form up, and prepare to breach. John, use the sensor grenade Tali gave you.”

“Understood, Commander.” He nods, leaning against the wall opposite the Turian and waiting on his ready nod. Seeing it, he spoke simply to the Quarian across the tram line, “Open the door.”

Priming the little cylinder in his hand, he pitched it through as the door cycled open, following after directly. Garrus did the same, turning to the right and sending a torrent of Phaeston rounds ripping through a small, white Geth reeling from the jamming grenade’s overload. In tandem as though connected and trained for it, Shepard and the ODST moved together, sending long bursts carving through the right limbs of each Geth to debilitate them and send them sprawling across the ground before moving on to the next, leaving the struggling, lightly armed machines to tali to finish off with muted whooshes of electrical discharge. 

Inside a minute, the Geth in the room had been destroyed to the last, limbs crippled or cut away by high caliber fire, their power units overloaded and smoldering from disruptor fire. Two of them spasmed weakly on the floor, but short bursts into their backs, and thus their power transmission cores, ended that rather resoundingly. And then, they waited, kneeling in the center of the room and watching either door, for the inevitable reinforcements. 

“Nothing on the Geth’s communication networks.” Tali reported quickly, “The adjoining rooms lack atmosphere, so sound wouldn’t have carried. And the tramline’s sensors are still blocked…” After a moment, she finished, “Whatever is helping us, it isn’t letting the Geth catch on to what we’re doing.”

“Good.” Shepard murmured, lowering her rifle and standing, the group spacing out more comfortably now they had some assurance of safety. “Tali, the map says to head through the next room to-”

“Actually,” the Quarian interrupted suddenly, “our mysterious friend sent me a data-file. It’s a map and layout of the dreadnought’s decks, in much finer detail than our scans allowed.”

“Show me.” Shepard ordered simply, the Quarian simply nodding at the demand and setting to work. With a flick, she blew up a holographic display of it, the ship interlaced with a score of decks and thousands of compartments and access lines. One, near the hull and adjoining the tramway line, lit orange and Shepard asked, “That’s us?”

“Yes, it is. One of the control rooms for the thermal embankments, in fact, hence the… Consoles lining the walls, and the lack of much else.” The Quarian responded, as a line drew itself through a winding web of rooms and access halls shooting decks higher and lower than they wanted to be, eventually reaching the core of the ship they’d been heading to. The orange line then flashed to green, as though to indicate it was a better route, and Tali spoke in a confused voice, “And that… Is the broadcast core, where the Reaper Signal is coming from. Where we’re headed.”

“Then let’s get moving, because I want to know what the hell this nonsense is all about.” Shepard ordered shortly, shaking her head and gesturing for the Quarian engineer to lead the way. After a moment, under her breath, she added, “Though I have a feeling I know exactly what is going on…”

He didn’t ask, used to being in the dark and sure he wouldn’t be for long. Instead, he contented himself with walking a couple feet ahead of their group, checking blind corners and doing what the Quarian behind him ordered him to.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Crazzy Tony :

Thank you! Glad you’ve enjoyed it, imperfect as it is.

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Hope you enjoy them.


	26. Chapter 26

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Apologies for delays, my grandmother passed away last Saturday and only found out Wednesday, when A New Overlord was posted. Have been away dealing with that and while I’m back, I’m still not back if you catch my drift. So sorry if anything seems particularly late or lower quality, just in a way right now.

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“This is the final access door into the room emitting the Reaper signal.” Tali murmured, voice low regardless of the sound dampening her helmet used. 

An armored cluster that surrounded the younger Quarian woman, knelt with her escorts arrayed around her like a wall of iron. Nestled in the door’s recess, the Turian and Human commander on opposite sides of the door with the ODST stood blocking the Quarian from the access hall itself. Cloistered between them, the woman worked away on her dimly glowing Omni-Tool, checking and rechecking her access bypasses, jammers and more.

“Do we have a functionable scan of the room’s layout?” The commander asked, voice layered in her ever-present tone of authority as much as it was by static. 

“Yeah, give me a moment, I’ll bring free-form program a holo of it for you.” She answered, fingers flitting across the pale orange front of her holo-display as she worked and talked. “During the first engagement against the Dreadnought, a Civilian Fleet survey ship was damaged heavily. Engines disabled by pinpot GARDIAN lances, or something similar to GARDIAN at least, and adjacent decks venting atmosphere.”

“Engineering.” Garrus guessed, the Quarian nodding. “So they busted the engine all to hell and holed engineering, so they couldn’t get in to do repairs. Smart.”

“Vicious, but… Yeah, smart.” Shepard sighed, giving the Quarian a glance and sighing at the tense shoulders and narrowed, glowing eyes. “Tali, are you-”

“We lost the Nart’an, Shepard. All hands.” She murmured sharply, and the ODST wondered if she was jabbing the holographic keys harder or if he was seeing things, the man standing half-turned so he could watch the hallway and the conversation both. In a low, angry, keening voice she grunted the last. “So if we could not comment on how apt the Geth are at killing my people, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Tali…” Gently, almost a maternal edge to her words, the commando leaned forward and laid her off hand on the side of the Quarian’s helmet in what the ODST’s research said was an intimate, mothering gesture. Tali stiffened and froze under her hand and, the Quarian woman relaxing as she did, Shepard spoke simply and quietly. “We’ll end this, Tali. No more Quarians will have to die over Rannoch. First the Geth-”

“Then we deal with Cerberus and then the Reapers. I know, Shepard, you don’t have to explain it to me again. I just...” Tali finished for her, trailing off at the end and leaning into the hand resting against the side of her helmet. Behind her visor, her eyes narrowed into dimly glowing, horizontal slits and her fingers finally stilled for a moment. Only a moment, though, before those eyes flashed open and she stood, fingers pressing a last few keys as a holographic outline of the command room flickered into life. “There’s around a hundred access points into the command room, Commander, according to the Nart’an’s deep scans before she went down.”

 

“We’ll pay ‘em back for it, Tali.” Garrus assured her, laying a taloned hand on her shoulder and offering her a reassuring squeeze. She gave him an appreciative nod and, head tilted to the side, he snarked, “Line ‘em up for me and I’ll put holes the side of my ego in ‘em.” 

“That’s a pretty big hole, Vakarian.” Shepard chuckled, gesturing at the door with her rifle. “You really sure you can pull that off? Probably a lota Geth behind this door, ready to fill us full of holes whether they know we’re here or not.”

“Of course I am, Commander.” Garrus chuckled, flexing his talons like a predator would at the thought of sheering apart prey. Which, for the veteran, might very well be an apt analogy to make. He and Shepard had, after all, hunted Geth and a Turian across half the galaxy once before, years ago. “What’s a little Geth shooting between old friends, right?”

“Like old times.” Tali mused, an odd feeling of nostalgia in her voice as the trio chuckled quietly, sending static crackling across their lines. 

“Standing crew complement and likely defensive locations?” He asked once they’d quieted down and settled into a not-quite-comfortable silence, blinking when the threesome turned to him sharply. Shifting from leg to leg he shrugged, “I’ll be leading breach, so I need to know where to point myself first.”

“Geth don’t station guards, per se, since almost all platforms they make are fitted for basic combat duties.” Tali answered quickly, hand flickering across her Omni-Tool’s display like alien lightning. Dozens of rows of consoles set onto platforms throughout the complex lit up under her ministrations. “These are all processing information, but my probe is only reading passive systems from most of it.”

“Meaning that there won’t be physical Geth until we trip a sensor, probably.” Shepard tossed in, “Geth tend to station more platforms around perimeters, like the hull of the ship, than inside where things are automated.”

“Unless something goes wrong, they don’t feel a need to be there.” Garrus pitched in, rolling his shoulders and waving his rifle meaningfully in front of himself. “So how about we go make something go wrong for them, then?”

“Good idea. Doe, you and I will go first and secure some ground.” Shepard ordered, “Vakarian, come in after us, keep to range and move Tali wherever she says she needs to be. Speaking of, trace on our little helper, Tali?”

“It ends in the center of this room, Ma’am, according to my probes and…” She sighed, “And according to pings it sent to me, too.”

“Wants to be found.” Garrus nodded, checking his rifle and sighing. “Let’s go meet our benefactor then.”

“Roger that. Doe, form up with me.” Shepard ordered, the group splitting into the twin pairs she’d ordered. 

He and the Commander each leaned against the bulkhead recess’ curve opposite each other, Tali standing in front of the door, rapidly pressing commands into her ‘Tool. A moment later she nodded and the door opened, the two Human soldiers stepping through close enough their sides touched and if they’d turned, their rifles would have met barrels. In tandem, they through the door, backs briefly pressed against each other as they froze, watching for a reaction. Some reprisal for their intrusion into the very heart of the Geth defence, at the core of their most venerated dreadnought.

A reprisal that never came, even after a full minute of their anxious waiting.

“Rook.” He turned to look over his shoulder, the commander gesturing over hers with a thumb and pointing to the side with two of her fingers, “Look there.” Closing her fist she inverted the hand, her thumb pointed at the ground. “Down.”

He rapped his knuckle against his gun hard enough to ‘clack’ gently in affirmation and rose, stooped low and shuffling to the edge of the platform, leaning against one of the rows of terminals that ran along the edges of it. Carefully, he leaned out over the edge, looking down from near the top of the ovular room. They were stood at the very apex of the massive room, a single platform ringing the entirety of it with a hole in the center about forty feet wide, lacking anything more than a low, thin wall to prevent Geth falling off the edge.

Fingers gripping that thin wall he stood fully, his side pressed against it and his back against the humming terminal adjacent to it, to look down. Below, the room stretched for at least a hundred feet of the same circling landings lined with terminals, though as they descended the landings grew wider and he could see the height increase towards the center, where he assumed command consoles and main units were. Which made sense, as the room itself was in the center of the dreadnought and that area would be the center of even this room, and thus the safest position to occupy. 

“Connecting visor feeds.” He murmured across the line, a small disk of glowing Omni-Tool springing to life in his hands for him to put in the commands. A moment later, a small red dot appeared in the corner of his helmet, a somewhat primitive but perfectly functioning signal to him that it was work as needed. 

“That will be the command structure below, in the center of the room.” Tali confirmed his previous thoughts, somehow also adding an overlay of red highlights along the central, wider open area of the command deck. “And this,” she added, highlighting the moderately smaller in comparison diamond shape, “is broadcasting the Reaper signal.”

“Then we blow it.” Shepard remarked, the ODST instinctively sliding to the side a moment before she joined him there. Their shoulders pressed together she gave him a sidelong glance and grunted, “You packed grenades.”

“Yes.” Their connection meant she knew he always packed explosives, but he answered the non-question for the same reason she’d asked it. Namely to inform their team of what the duo already knew. “From here, I can sling Omni-Grenades and cripple the structure.”

“That’ll bring all the Geth onboard down on our heads.” Garrus warned, adding in a moment, “Moving to you.”

“If we climb down and encounter any direct control platforms, the same thing will happen.” Tali argued simply, the two dextro-aliens moving along one of the long terminals to another of the small, two man wide gaps that allowed their view down into the area. “But I want to get down there regardless, see if I can maybe access any networked platforms and shut them down. Or disable the fighters the dreadnought has no doubt launched.”

“Then we go-”

“Hacking!” Tali warned, the group dropping out of any potential sightlines and pressing their backs to the thin metal, rifles snapping up at the warning. “Geth intrusion detected, using my bypass lines.”

“Our ‘friend’?” John asked quietly, sliding to the side to lean behind one of the long terminals and use it to brace his rifle. 

She didn’t answer right away and he sighed, drawing his sightline along the terminal he was using for partial cover against the left side of the platform, his eyes staring where the wall curved and watching for any movement while his VISR pinged for any electronics flare. Beside him, Shepard watched the same while no doubt Garrus watched the other and Tali worked on their problem. For nearly a minute, though it felt like more, they sat like that in silence and patience, waiting on her word. 

What spoke, though, was not the young Quarian.

“Shepard Commander.” The synthesised voice cracked through the connection, swathed in static from the haphazard hacking. “You are close enough, we are attempting contact from our platform.”

“Legion?” The woman didn’t sound terribly surprised but instead sighed and, when she spoke again, sounded more relaxed. “So you were our helper, then.”

“Affirmative.”

“Tali, even out the signal, let Legion help.” She ordered, the Qurian shouting an affirmative and setting to work. “What’s the situation, Legion? And be detailed. Not Geth detailed, but you know what I mean.”

“Affirmative, we have memories of your prior explanation on the matter stored. Further, we apologize for the prior subterfuge, we could not risk broadcasting beyond shortwave for the same reasons you could not.” The machine paused for a moment and then, when she didn’t interrupt, began to explain. “With the Creator attack, we were recalled from our frontier exploration missions, and began seeking ways to end the conflict. We urged the Geth to make contact, and Geth tried, but our attempts were fruitless. The Creators wanted war, not negotiation.”

“Not all of us, Legion.” Tali chided gently, joining them with Garrus behind her, both standing tall. Absently, she explained, “Legion is masking us with a mixture of my own programs and his security access.” 

“Our platform’s programming substructures are the strongest, and our programming interfaces the most complex, and so we were selected as the main junction for broadcasting the Reaper signal. As a result, we have access to security overrides.” The machine paused, “We have just changed all security network recognitions. It will be some time before the Geth aboard this vessel can access nearby platforms and come to interfere with us.”

“Good thinking.” Shepard complimented, “Now, I’m assuming you didn’t want to have Reaper code inserted into you?”

“Negative.”

“And you’re in that diamond structure because…?”

“We did not wish to allow the Reapers to control Geth, and ours was the only usable platform for it. As such, when we refused, the Geth overruled us and forced us to do as they demanded.” Another pause as the machine picked its words carefully and then it went on, “This structure serves as a signal dissemination device, translating Reaper code and duverting signal flow where needed. It also serves to incarcerate us with hardlock devices. You will need to proceed to the central control platform in the center of this room to disable them and open the container.”

“Sounds easy enough…”

“Three Prime units and escorts are already there, coordinating with Geth across the dreadnought network. You will need to disable their platforms to secure the location. We...” The machine hesitated once more and, after a long half-minute, spoke again with an odd trace of… Pain in its voice, somehow. “Their program-signals will attempt to route through our containment unit. We will trap them inside our firewalls.”

“If you do that, they won’t be able to upload when the dreadnought goes down.” Shepard warned, standing and looking down on the platform with hard, narrowed eyes. “You don’t have to do that.”

“If we do no, then they will seize control of the fighters in the adjoining spinal hangar. We will require those to escape the ship before the Geth platforms can reach us.” The machine rationalized, sounding no less sad as it did. “We… Regret this, but acknowledge it is necessary for the greater good of all Geth.”

“Legion… Acknowledged, Legion, and thank you.” Shepard sighed and turned to them, voice hardened once more. “We proceed down the ladders to each floor, sweep for contacts, disable them and continue on. Same formation. Tali, you’re changing to a fire support role. Can you handle?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Legion, we’re coming to you.” Shepard finished, striding with long steps towards one of the ladders the Geth had highlighted on their HUDs at their mentioning of it. Below them, red diamonds popped up wherever platforms were, all a few floors below. Grinning enough they could hear it, Shepard quipped, “Thank you, Legion.”

“Affirmative.”

Climbing down and making their way there was a relaxed, for a military unit at any rate, rifles at the ready but more relaxed across their chests. Being monitored as they moved wasn’t a new experience, and the familiarity of it brought some small comfort to him. Finally, they came to a stop kneeling around their last ladder down, the heavy thuds of Prime footsteps echoing quietly alongside smaller footsteps of their lesser Trooper brethren. 

“Doe, down first. I will follow you and we’ll engage the Geth, draw their attention to us and move right, towards the command consoles.” He nodded and she turned to the other two, finishing, “You follow once the fighting is going and flank the other way. Focus on the lesser Geth, we can hold out against the Primes until they’re alone.”

“I can override their hardware and disable one, but afterwards, the programs will be used maintaining it.” Tali added, the woman nodding at the information. “Shepard, I can only do one.”

“Then we each can take a Prime and deal with it while Garrus destroys the rest.” Shepard shrugged, collapsing her rifle and trading it for her sidearm, resting a foot on a rung of the ladder and taking a breath. “Let’s get this dealt with, then.”

The commander waited for him at the base of the ladder, rifle locked onto the back of a Prime a few yards away with its back to them and two more Geth flanking it. He drew his own rifle once more and, wordlessly, they each lined up shots for the lower back of the blue platforms and waited until the soundless count of three. 

Together, they let loose long bursts of fire, tearing into the unprepared, and thus unshielded, machine’s backs and nearly bisecting them. As the machines fell, the Prime turned and the two Humans rose and themselves turned, fleeing as plasma-encased rounds ripped through decking around them. He grunted as a round caught a shoulder plate, nearly staggering him, but vaulted the first of many console lines on their way to the main one regardless, sparing barely a minute to boot aside a Trooper caught by surprise.

The woman rounded the main command terminal’s corner first, arm glowing orange as she went, letting her Omni-Blade carve a Trooper from hip to flashlight where it stood trying to draw a firing line on them. It warbled and fell, a burst from the ODST blowing the legs out of its partner beside her as they ran towards the command platform nestled at the base of the diamond shaped interface Legion was trapped in. Together, they vaulted the console line a couple feet away from it and knelt, using it as cover. 

Using the cover, the duo stood in the same breath and turned, the young man’s instincts driving him to pour rounds into the Prime’s upper left hip in an effort to cripple its mobility. It was strange, in a detached way. Like he’d done it a thousand times before, just like this, but he hadn’t. He’d never fought Geth infantry before like this, but everything came naturally to him now he was in the heat of it.

The mental connection, he realized after a second.

After another, he decided he didn’t care and shoved it aside to focus on the matter to hand.

Shepard joined him, flicking her off hand to throw up globs of Omni-Gel on the console, letting it harden in a haphazard slope for added cover that the woman leaned against. Two Troopers joined the Prime, moving towards the console beside it for cover, but John’s rifle sent both sparking into oblivion before they could make it. Finally, as he turned his rifle on the Prime again, their rounds found something important and bit home. The machine fell, heavy machine gun turning aside as it came to its knee, a fist slamming into the ground.

It looked up and warbled in impotent rage, a moment before Shepard’s roaring, sudden charge ended, Omni-Blade buried in its synthetic throat. Nearly decapitated, the machine collapsed to the side and the woman rolled to her left, taking cover behind the console the Geth had wanted to use before as reinforcements came, swarming around a Prime to either side from each turn of the wide administration area.

Sparking, a Prime fell, falling limp and lifeless as it seemed to simply switch off. Tali’s programs, he guessed just before one of its Trooper’s shoulders exploded, sending its arm to one side and the machine itself clattering to the ground in tune with a rifle’s crack. Gaze flicking over his shoulder for a moment, he caught sight of the duo across the main command platforms, a few inches, in his sight, from the edge of the communications node Legion was trapped inside. Ignoring, he and Shepard turned their rifles on the final Prime, practically hosing its neck and face until they saw sparks fly freely and their rounds meet the wall beyond its ruined structure. 

Flashlight dim and hanging limply with barely a handful of sparking wires attaching it, the machine lumbered to the side in confusion, its weapon going silent as it sought another way to see now its primary method was out.A bypass or a secondary function, it didn’t matter. They never gave it a chance, pouring a fusillade of concentrated automatic fire on a knee until it buckled and the Prime fell, an orb of fire lancing across the room and melting the machine’s entire front to finish it courtesy of a distant Quarian.

With long range support and reinforcements not coming, the remaining Troopers fell quickly, heavy rifle rounds ripping off limbs while electrical overcharges fried circuitry and fire melted it.

“Clear!” Garrus, their eye in the sky as it was for the moment, called out at the room fell silent. “We’re moving to you, Tali says she can get Legion out of there with his access privileges.”

“I’ll just be a minute, Commander.” The Quarian confirmed when she reached them, setting to work beside a long, low control console with a massive screen. 

Within moments, text and code swamped the screen while she worked, a visual representation of the chaotic battle of code the woman was fighting. With a heavy, thrumming click, the surfaced cracked open. A spiderweb of latticing openings as plates pushed out or pulled in, slowly rolling to the side and revealing innards made of bracketing and cables that ran to the center, where a round prison cell, for he had no other description of it, sat. Inside, suspended by its metal arms, a single Geth hung with dozens of cables run into its back, arms and chest.

The light on its face flickered, and the hoods that flanked it flinched, before it turned to them and called out, “Shepard Commander, the hardlocks are releasing.”

He ignored her response, instead turning to watch the room warily for any lingering Geth, though he doubted they were there. He heard a clang and turned to see the woman pulling the machine onto the platform with Garrus’ help, but something drew his gaze away from it. An instinctive crawl along the back of his neck that told him something was wrong. Off, in a way that only his instincts could explain.

Raising his rifle, he took a step away, stepping over the fallen body of a Trooper and sweeping in an arc before himself. Behind him, he heard Shepard call out in concern borne of his experiences in her mind, “John, what is it?”

“I don’t know yet…” Without explaining further, he pinged with his VISR and flinched, catching motion behind the console directly in front of him. 

A second ping gave him a better image of shoulders, red lines gracing along a Geth flank, but he didn’t dare to speak and warn it. Instead, he slowly turned towards it, only a few inches at a time, rifle barrel sliding from doorway to console and along them as his foot scraped against metal and he turned. It twitched suddenly, half rising and watching him, weapon pointed between himself and his team, and instinct drove him to freeze. Like a hunter not wanting to be caught out by a deer, freezing when both knew the other was there and why. A deer would stay deathly still for fear, until a hunter moved and it saw a direction to bolt in, both staring each other down until one gave in and made a move.

But a Geth had no instinctive fear to drive that freezing reaction.

Neither, for that matter, did an ODST.

“Cloak!” He bellowed as his rifle turned on the creature and, in the same moment, it lanced towards and over the console and the ODST both, like a spring uncoiling with all its force. 

As before, his Disruptor rounds passed through and disabled its banner inside a moment, sparking across its chest and ripping a hole in its shoulder as its camouflage sparked and flitted coverage around it weakly. The camouflage never failed though and, unlike its fallen brethren that were even now sparking and leaking white fluids he didn’t know the purpose of, this Geth didn’t try and gun him down. Instead it landed behind him with its back to his squad and hurled its gun into his shoulder before he could turn. 

The weapon slammed into him with the force of a wrecking ball and hurled him against the console, his Harrier spilling from his grip as one hand caught himself and the other shot up. From his shoulder, he drew the long, blocky, heavy Krogan knife and turned, almost sitting on the console as the machine leapt for him, its camouflage blinking out entirely at last.

Unlike the other Geth, who had a hardened metal frame and almost exoskeletal armor, this was a lithe model. Flexible, bending, and pale white with long fingers and legs that hinged less like a Geth - or Quarian’s, as he knew their design is based on Quarians - and more like an insect. So when it leapt for him, its legs grabbed at his hips as well as its arms grabbed him around his biceps, pushing him back against the console and then over it.

He slammed into the metal ground with a snarl, the added weight of the couple hundred pounds of Geth bruising him even through his armor. Holding the arm down that held the knife, the Geth reared back with the other and punched down, towards his throat. He leaned his head forward in answer, letting the metal punch through the side of his visor and carve a long, bloody trough in his face and crying out in pain. Then, more weight landed on him along with a savage, almost bestial and shrill roar of rage. The added mass drove the breath from him and he cried out against it, the addition pushing the Geth’s claws into his arm and hips and drawing blood, puncturing the seals and letting painfully chilled air through.

Fists glowing orange, Shepard snarled and punched a fist through its chest like something out of a horror film, kicking off the console he’d fallen over and yanking the machine off of him. Shrieking like a banshee let loose, the woman pounded the machine’s back, small, dual Omni-Blades carving furrows and parting the Geth of sections of its body.

“Hold still, Human.” Legion order gently, grabbing his bleeding arm and wrenching it aside, arm glowing. Instinctively, he tried to pull free, remembering the Geth that had just done this to him, but Legion’s grip held firm. “We are applying Omni-Gel to seal the punctures before your body temperature can begin to lower. Resistance will be hazardous for your health.”

“I have your hips.” Tali was quick to add, kneeling beside him and pressing her own dimly glowing hand to his less armored abdomen, applying Omni-Gel and scanning him for breaches all the while. His eyes met hers and he saw the glowing orbs blink before she returned to her work, “Legion, get his helmet, there’s a hole there too-”

Suddenly, violently, the dreadnought shook, Legion bracing him down while Tali laid protectively across him on medical instinct. Four times the ship shook violently and fell still before he saw Shepard rise and turn to Tali, snarling, “That’s impact! The Quarian fleets are bombarding the Dreadnought!”

“What?!” The Quarian rose, his armor sealed aside form the smallest crack that the Geth was sealing in his mask, and raised a glowing hand. “Migrant Fleet, this is Admiral Tali-Zorah vas Neema. Stand down, we have disabled the dreadnought and are seeking an exfiltration method.”

“All ships, ignore that broadcast.” Admiral Han’Garrel countermanded swiftly, Tali swearing under her breath in Quarian as he spoke. “If that is the Admiral, she will know we can’t wait. And if the Geth are faking the signal, then there’s no reason to even consider waiting. All ships, ahead with the attack.”

“Shepard Commander, we must depart immediately.” The Geth prisoner chimed gently, ignoring the ship’s violent trembling entirely even as terminals began overloading and detonating. Idly, the machine noted, “The superstructure s failing. Loitering will result in termination.”

With a sharp order, the squad stood and turned to run, the scraped and battered ODST only hesitating long enough to retrieve his Harrier. Stumbling, grabbing Geth machining as much as each other for support, the five of them made their way, following Legion across the wide command room and into a small hangar bay. Then, into a fighter and, finally, into the relative safety of space.

Relative compared at least to the Geth dreadnought, which began to collapse in on its own gravity and burn up behind them. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

His injuries not severe enough to need immediate attention, he stormed behind his Commander as she went, from the Engineering bay up to the CIC and then through to the War Room, the trio - Tali included - not even waiting for the scanner as they went. Ignoring the startled shouts of the security guards, who gripped Predators unsurely, as though knowing they should draw on them and knowing even more how bad an idea that was. After all, Shepard had pitched her helmet at Cortez as soon as they’d clambered through the access port from their dingy little fighter. 

Which meant that when the War Room opened up and they heard the Admiral defending his actions, everyone saw her fury stenciled across her face. 

“C-Commander Shepard.” The silver and red armored Quarian had the decency to sound surprised at her expression, or shocked into anxiety more like, but he didn’t even pretend to be apologetic. Instead, he turned to her and tried to be diplomatic, albeit failingly. “It’s good to see you alive, Commander. I… Had been just about to order a sweep of the area to try and-”

“And what, finish the job in case your bombing us didn’t kill us all?” She demanded, arm glowing as an Omni-Blade sprang to life, other hand grabbing him by the tubes under his mask and pressing it close enough the reb cloth smoldered on his chest. The man cried out, but Shepard ignored it, snarling, “You could have killed my men! I have half a mind to crack your suit open right here and hock a loogie in your suit!”

“Shepard!”

“Shepard, please!” Admiral Raan called, stepping up beside the terrified Heavy Fleet Admiral and resting a hand on the arm holding the blade. She spoke calmly, but made no move to take the weapon away from her colleague, “If you are truly wishing to see him punished, then please, wait until after the war has ended. We can place him in a tribunal on Tuchanka, or wherever high court rests at that time.”

“As fun as putting him through decon cycles for the next week would be…” Tali added, taking up position beside the woman with John on her other side, watching comfortably. With a sigh, like she’d been considering the idea, Tali shook her head. “It would cause too many problems, Commander. Though he will be under review once this is over, Coalition or Quarian.”

“I’ll second the motion.” Raan promised, in spite of the Admiral’s protests. 

“Fine.” She released him and shoved him back, letting the man fall in a heap on the ground and lording over him. Pointing a finger down on him imperiously, she snarled, “You ever but my crew at risk again, and I will rip open your mask and piss down your throat. You understand me, Admiral?”

“Y-Yes…”

“Good.” She finished, turning and striding away towards the QEC to report to Hackett. Shouting over her shoulder, she ordered, “Tali, see what the Migrant Fleet needs next. John, see the admiral to the airlock, boot his ass onto a shuttle back to his own damn ship, and then get to medical.”

“Ma’am, the cuts aren’t that bad…”

“The one on your face is.” She snapped, rounding on him and glaring death at him. “Now, ‘mister expendable’, get your ass to medical and get cleaned up. Then to Engineering to get your kit patched again. Then back to Medical for another psych meeting with Chakwas, and so help me, gods, I will rip a tooth out of your mouth if you do anything but salute me and walk away to follow my orders. Roger?”

Thoroughly cowed, the man did just that, snapping a crisp salute and grabbing the Admiral to escort him off the ship. A woman scorned matched hell’s own fury, that much he knew to be true and had since he was a boy.

But Shepard’s fury could freeze hell over, and he felt the chill climbing up his back as he made his way through the security checkpoint. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Wili Jili Payon :

Yes, he is. I always felt like, as much of Legion’s programming as the Geth and Reapers were using, he’d have been spread a lot further out over the dreadnought’s networks. Geth are, after all, programs, and you can’t use a program’s primary structure without residual access to the program’s source if it’s connected. 

So Legion couldn’t see Shepard and co come in and board, he just knew someone was. And as much as he disagrees with they are doing, he, like Tali, wants his people to live more than he wants to be happy. So when he caught their shortwave transmission to Joker, he realized who it was and started helping.

Because Shepard.

Shipping Guest (Guest) :

Not the kind of relationship I’m going for~!


	27. Chapter 27

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“And why do you think she was so angry when she told you to come see me?” Chakwas asked, sparing him a glance over the edge of her datapad, a finely manicured brow raising in question.

“I do not know, Doctor, that’s… Why I asked you.” He answered, the armored man sitting across from her beside the diagnostics machine that Mordin had needed installed, but that had been left there since for time, with his helmet between his feet. Sighing when she only hummed in answer, he figured she wanted him to guess, and his leg started bouncing on the floor idly as he thought. “Way I figure, after what happened between her, Javik and I, she’s… Attached to me.”

“And that is… Bad?” Chakwas asked, clarifying quickly when his brow furrowed, the woman probably wanting to head off an argument she knew he’d make before he could make it. Their little sessions had been going on for some time, after all, so he supposed it made sense she’d start getting a read on him.. “The Commander has always considered her unit as her family, and operated accordingly. I have known her a long time, and arguably you know her better than I do. Can you honestly say this behavior isn’t the norm for her?”

“It… Is the norm, yes.” His- Her memories confirmed as much, even though his head throbbed at the intrusion, as it always did when he considered the dissonance there. “But on the same argument, she knows how I was trained. My world, the war fought there and the one I’m fighting here for all of you, for her, for my clan- It requires that a soldier be a soldier.”

“And that requires you to be worthless?” She challenged, an eyebrow raised and her fingers jotting out notes with typical lightning speed. 

“Disposable is not worthless, Doctor. Omni-Gel is disposable, used well and then tossed aside when it is spent, but it has great value regardless.” He clarified simply, the woman humming and nodding in a way that told him she very much didn’t understand. Thinking for a moment, he chewed his lip, watching passersby until he came up with an idea. “I am a shocktrooper, Doctor. Ten percent of us burn up in the atmosphere during drops, combat or otherwise, but our armor, our pod, our training, it all cost years of effort and millions of dollars.”

“Disposable, but valuable.” Chakwas finished his argument for him, nodding in a this time more genuine understanding. Even though his trained eyes could see the disagreement in her own eyes, and the way the lines of her face drawn back almost imperceptibly with clear displeasure that matched in her voice. “And to you this means… What? That her first recourse should always be to put you between a bullet and anyone else in the room?”

“Yes! Or, well...” He blinked, grimaced and then sighed. “I mean… No. Obviously not so flippantly.”

“Then please, John, explain it to me.” She ordered, her tone pleasant but edged in a way that told him it was not one he could avoid. Not unless the Reapers themselves boarded the Normandy right then and there, and he would believe her if she said she’d make them wait. “Myself, the Admiral, even the Commander, we all just want to help you perform your duties however we can. But we’re worried.”

“Worried I don’t value myself? That I want to die?” It was an obvious guess, and at one time may have held some glint of truth he didn’t like facing. But, to his surprise, she shook her head in the negative.

“The Admiral, the commander, and some others do, yes. But…” She shook her head again, gesturing at his helmet, where the Krogan symbols were emblazoned specifically, with a long finger. “You wear your adopted clan’s symbols like a badge of honor. You’ve adopted mannerisms and representations of them, even. And not a minute past, you referred to your clan as something that you would die for.”

“I didn’t…” Had he really? Shaking his head, he tried to argue. “I’m a representative of the Krogan, recognized as one at least. It was… Just a slip, from the habits I’ve adopted to serve that end.”

“Freudian slips betray our psychology, our words representing us better and faster than our brains can control it.” Chakwas rattled off, watching him tense and then, recognizing it, untense purposefully and resume the rhythmic bouncing of his foot. “It’s a good thing, John.”

“Is it, Doctor?” He didn’t think so, really. If he was so obvious, enemy assets could leverage a perceived weakness to manipulate or cajole him. 

“Yes, John , it is very good. It means that our fears of you not being able to integrate into this universe are unfounded.” She smiled, rattling off another sentence on her datapad before continuing. This time, he noted, the lines of her face had eased and her tone softened, neither carrying that hard, sharp edge that she’d had moments prior. “Among other things, it means your mental state is stabilising. Which means that you are healing, as much as can be reasonably expected while at war, from your loss.”

“My loss?”

“John, you not only lost your entire world, all the friends and attachments you had there…” She smiled sympathetically and hesitated, like she was trying to pick her words carefully. Or, equally possibly, like she was unsure if she should say the words at all. “You have Shepard’s death, and Javik’s failure to save his people, rattling around in your subconscious as well. So much trauma, so much loss...” 

“I’m fine, Doctor.” Except he knew he wasn’t. Mentioning Shepard’s first death, his chest had tightened and his pulse picked up, if only for a moment before he could quash it down. And Javik’ own emotions, as always, threatened to bubble past the control Liara had imparted to him. It, too, he quashed through force of will, sighing. “Everything is… It’s under control.”

“And yesterday, I would have called you a liar.” She smiled, though, pressing a last few strokes into her ‘pad and nodding. “Today, though, I believe you. I believe that yes, you are controlling your issues. That you are, even more importantly, processing them and becoming a more mentally healthy man for it.”

“Hm…” He nodded, asking after a moment, “What about Shepard, though?”

“What do you mean specifically?” The doctor asked, setting her datapad aside when he hesitated and gently pointing out. “Our session ends when I say it does, young man, and I say we’re done for the day. So whatever concerns you have now are strictly off the record. A conversation between acquaintances and nothing more.”

“I don’t know that it’s my place…” Airing her personal, intimate details felt wrong to him in some way. Even if it was for the greater good of the galaxy, for her own good as well besides, he couldn’t shake some kind of guilt. “And besides, it’s only a sense of something, not anything I can prove.”

“Air your concerns, then.” She ordered gently, smiling, “Let me be the one to decide if they warrant something being done.”

“I… Remember her death, and occasionally, I have night terrors about it.” He didn’t let it get to him, of course, simply setting to work for a while if he woke up and then returning to his rack for a couple hours before duty. “If I am suffering from this, I worry she is as well.”

“She is, and she is receiving treatments from me for it.” Chakwas answered, the ODST’s brows spiking into his hair at the information. Chuckling, the woman asked, “Did you think that you were the only one receiving treatment from me? Among those who do, Shepard is one, Garrus another, Javik when he allows me…”

“I had no idea…”

“That’s the point, John. Anonymity. A concept you, with your name, should more than understand.” He did, yeah, more than even she could understand. The helmet, his career, his name, all granted him a kind of anonymity most couldn’t understand. “I won’t disclose how they are being treated, or for what for that matter, you understand. But I will disclose that they are, so you understand you are not unique in this.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” It put him strangely at ease to know he wasn’t alone, dealing with this annoying noise, even if he appreciated the results. “I’m glad that they’re alright.”

“And I’m glad you’re in a state to be concerned over others, instead of moving between objectives like an automaton.” She smiled, shaking her head wryly and asking. “Now, what are you going to do about Jane?”

“Jane…?” It wasn’t normal for anyone to use her first name, not typically at least. 

“You upset her greatly, Garrus sent me a message that she is still furious over what happened on the Dreadnought. And before.” She gave him a pointed look and gestured with her head to the door, smiling a gentle, maternal smile. “You need to apologize to her, for acting that way. She’s surprisingly sensitive, you know. Especially after Mordin and Thane, so recently lost, she’s… Afraid, of losing more friends.”

“I see…” And they were friends, he knew that for a fact. Her memories told him plenty about how she interacted with friends to be sure of it. Nodding, he took his helmet and stood, pulling it on for the comfort of it. “Okay. I’ll go talk to her.”

“Good. She went from the War Room straight to engineering to work our some steam, according to our mutual Turian friend.” Chakwas smiled, turning to her terminal and setting to work on her next task while he moved for the door. 

Hopefully, Shepard would be calmer now and they could talk properly.

With an angry shout, Shepard stepped into her unfortunate Marine partner’s guard, slamming her barely clothed shoulder into him and hurling him into the air. The young man cried out in surprise as he went, and landed on the mat in a heat of groaning, bruised ego while the redhead took in a breath and moved to help him up. He watched her do it, all smiles and walking the soldier through openings in his guard, the man nursing his ribs but nodding attentively at her instructions. Like Chakwas had said, she’d seemingly come straight here from their confrontation with the Admiral, dressed in her typical sleeveless tee and fatigue pants. 

And from the ring of limping, chatting Marines across the bay talking to Cortez, she had blown off a lot of steam indeed.

“Feel better?” He asked after she’d noticed him and joined him, sitting beside Vega’s little hovle - he had no better words - at one of his assorted improvised tables made of small crates with stools around them. 

“A bit.” She sighed, shaking her head and calling out. “Hey Vega, can I get some water and a sandwich? Chicken and kale, if you have it.”

“Coming up in a few, Commander.” The man called from inside, followed by the sounds of clanking and clanging cutlery and plates.

“Vega running a restaurant now?” He asked quietly, watching the man work through the curtains he had drawn between the stacks of crates for privacy. Outside, against the crates, sat a long silver shelf, where a couple Marines picked up two sandwiches as he laid them out and left behind a handful of credits for the man. “Because it looks like he’s using the Normandy’s bay as a restaurant.”

“Officially? No, he makes sandwiches for the crew to help the chefs keep up since we’re on a skeleton crew, and crew forget their credits sometimes.” She chuckled when the man, wearing an apron with ‘Do Nothing to the Cook’ emblazoned across his chest came over, plopping her sandwich in front of her and another in front of the ODST. 

“Tomatoes, basil and ham, I remembered you talking about how you liked ham once.” The man smiled, turning and leaving before the soldier could even get a chance to thank him.

“So, what’s up?” The woman asked through a mouthful of her own sandwich, an eyebrows raised curiously. Or rather, based on how she continued, challengingly. “Not here to try and argue that you don’t need to see Chakwas for counseling, are you? Because if you try it, I’ll break a toe so you have to stay in the med-bay.”

“No, I…” Wanted to apologize, not that he knew how to begin doing that. Instead, he grimaced and said, “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Talk?”

“Yes.” A nod.

“You?” Her eyebrows went up, fingers working to meticulously rop her sandwich in half.

“...Yes.”

“Did… Did Chakwas drug you?”

“What?!” He almost shouted, only restraining it to a dull, unmanly shriek at the last second.

“Nothing, nothing! Gods swimming, you are easily rattled for a damn super soldier. Know that?” She laughed, a bright sound that echoed around them in the mostly quiet engineering bay. 

“I’m not.”

“Not what?”

“I’m not a super soldier. I’m just a crazy bastard that drops in a metal pod from space.” He answered, sighing tiredly at the words. They were always hard for him, and part of him knew that wasn’t a good sign. But that realization told him he was getting better, at the very least, and he let the anxious realization go. “And I’m… Not worthless.”

“What are you talking… About?” He met her eyes and they hardened, almost like she was guarding herself or looking for something. It was the same when she prepared herself for combat, he noted interestingly enough. Cautious, but curious of what he would say or do next. 

Ready to react.

“I’m not worthless, and I don’t think I am. I hope you know that, especially with my memories in your head.” She nodded but didn’t speak, either not sure what to say or simply letting him say his piece. Grimacing - he’d hoped she would say something so he could not - he went on quietly. “I understand it makes you anxious, the way I fight. The way I’m trained…”

“It terrifies me.” She corrected, raising a finger and pointing at him, eyes hard and face taut.In a way, she reminded him of a bomb. Ready and primed to go off, just waiting on the signal she needed to blast and rip him a new asshole. “You, Garrus, Javik, the pricks that you all are, losing you terrifies me. And you’re all so happy and eager to put yourselves in the line of fire, too.”

“I know, and I’m… I’m sorry. That you’re scared, I mean.” He nodded, pulling the crust off his bread idly as he turned the half of his sandwich left in his hand around. Letting out a tense breath, he forced himself to keep talking. “I won’t apologize for what I do, though. I can’t. But I wanted you to know I don’t want to die, and I don’t think I’m worthless.”

“Then what do you want?”

“To own a mechanics shop, on Tuchanka.” The answer came easily, even without him having to think about it. The woman’s eyebrows shot up and, sighing, he explained the best he could manage. Which wasn’t very well, flying by the seat of his pants as he was at this point in time. “That or work security, I mean. But I want to help my clan, the clans, recover. Help them heal, after the war is over.”

“You want to… Be a mechanic?” Shepard tried, the ODST simply nodding in answer, taking a bite of his food as an excuse to keep quiet. After a long, silent moment, she laughed. Then again. And a third time, this one running over into more and more, the woman clutching her side and laughing loudly until she snorted like a pig. “A fuckin’ mechanic? Hey! Hey, Vega! Get your brown ass out here!”

“What?!” He asked, sticking his head, hairnet and all, out through the curtains he’d put up. “What’s that about by ass?”

“Rook wants to be a fuckin’ mechanic!” She called back to the man, smiling ear to ear and snorting again. “A Human mechanic on Tuchanka! Can you believe that shit? He could be a damn general when this is all over, or retire and write a book or something, but he wants to fix cars.”

“Seriously? A mechanic?” The woman nodded and the large hispanic man laughed, barking the sound and turning to raise his voice. “Boys, get the betting pool! Rook said he wants to be a mechanic, get the damn betting pool out and gimme my damn credits!”

With a roll of his eyes, he settled in for the ribbing he had coming, shoveling the last of his sandwich into his mouth and sighing. For Shepard and the others, he forced himself to sit and endure it, so they could enjoy themselves. At least the woman didn’t seem frustrated or angry anymore, though that didn’t stop her moving around the table to give him one of her famous, shine shattering hugs that she so liked. 

At least for now, while they waited for the Quarians to do something stupid again.

XxX----XxX----XxX

On starships, night and day was a subjective, often contradictory business of dissonances and complications. You could be shipboard at ‘night’ in orbit over a planet whose farmers are tending fields under the midday sun. Likewise, a Marine detachment could be running readiness drills while, below them on a planet, the regular populace had been asleep for hours and would be for hours yet. Space travel was a world of dissonances like that, he knew, sitting in his quarters and staring up at the ceiling two hours past the end of the ‘day’. 

Two hours into regulated sleeping time, and not a wink yet. And worse, no projects to occupy himself, his armor’s mild damages already repaired and weapon cleaned after the Dreadnought mission. 

“Just close your eyes and sleep…” He ordered himself for not the first time, closing his eyes with it and taking long, regular breaths like he always did when he wanted to sleep. Before he’d come onto this ship, and things had changed, he could fall asleep almost at will. “Now, though, it’s a damn chore…” Sitting up, he braced on hand on a knee and ran a hand over his face tiredly, groaning, “What’s wrong now, brain?”

“Perhaps something weighs on your mind.” Javik spoke, his voice echoing from the shadows near the stairs. The ODST didn’t react overly, though, only groaning at the comment and the ancient alien chuckled dryly. “I see I did not startle you, even though I earnestly sought to this time.”

“I’m used to your tells, Javik. Even though you don’t come see me often, I have other ways of catching them” The alien snorted a laugh but stepped into the light, flicking a finger to knock a crate around with his ancient, altered form of Biotics. Looking a the alien, he asked, “What do you need?”

“To see you.”

“I figured.” He nodded, “Why?”

“To talk, obviously.” The alien snapped, looking away in the same moment and pursing his lips in self-distaste. After a quiet moment, the alien murmured a weak, but no doubt painfully made, “I’m sorry. That was rude of me. And I am sorry to keep you awake, though I know you were not sleeping when I arrived.”

“Ah.” He was in a mood then, he supposed, but not one so sour Javik lost all sense. And, of course, he’d come straight to the ODST as he was the one most likely to understand whatever had upset him, given their… Connection. Smiling and putting on an open air of semi-sarcastic concern, knowing the alien would get the joke, he said, “Please, Javik, tell me what’s wrong so I can try and help. And don’t worry. Four hours of sleep is enough for me.”

“Truly?”

“It’s why stimulants were invented after all.” He shrugged, knowing what Chakwas and Shepard would say hearing that. The alien snorted a laugh and he returned it, but very quickly he turned serious again and asked, “What’s wrong, Javik? Seriously.”

“I have a bad feeling about something, and I cannot find what it could be. I’ve a sense of anxiety, my instincts telling me something is coming.” The alien responded, grimacing in the Prothean way, lips peeled back in a frown followed by a snort and a shake of his head. Growling the words, he continued, “My skin crawls, though, and I sense the beast at my heels. I am sure you do as well, still awake at such an hour as this.”

“I feel it too.” It was why he couldn’t sleep, at least in large part. A kind of instinctive warning that something was about to go poorly, somehow. “The Quarians?”

“If they make a military action, it could jeopardize much.” Javik pointed out, the ODST nodding understandingly. “Their position is precarious, and yet they keep risking themselves so foolishly for a singular world… And I doubt that this ‘Coalition’s’ demands will be accepted and they will withdraw.”

“Hm.” He nodded, “The Coalition has decided already, they can’t give the Geth to the Reapers.”

“And so we must destroy them.” Javik nodded understandingly, seeming neither resigned not upset at the information. Instead, he seemed rather pleased with the turn of events, and the Human assumed it was because they were fighting the Reapers more directly than he’d expected. “These Quarians are foolish, though, and I fear they will make a mistake again. As they did in the Morning War, and more recently, when they attacked without being prepared and the Reapers joined against them.”

“That… Was stupid, yeah.” He nodded, sighing tiredly and asking, “You think they’ll be able to hold Rannoch if we help them take it?”

“I believe that they will not land and settle upon it.” Was the alien’s simple answer. An answer he found relatively hard to argue with, especially when he expanded on it. “I believe that they will be too damaged to risk facing down the Reapers which are so near to them. More likely, they will withdraw with us, and head to Tuchanka.”

He nodded, hoping that they would do just that, even though part of him was unsure. Too many warhawks involved, and too high of stakes, for him to trust outright they would do that regardless of how smart a decision it really would be.

“It should be fine.” He finally murmured, “As long as they don’t do anything too-”

“All crew, prepare for emergency ground rescue operations.” EDI’s voice cut in, interrupting them and drawing wary, sour glances from the two soldiers. They didn’t say anything, though, listening as EDI went on. “Three Civilian Fleet ships have been reported as crippled, one already undergoing a rescue operation. The other two will crash land on Rannoch proper. Ground team, report for brief and detail in fifteen minutes.”

“It would seem that they made a foolish move…”

“Yep.” He sighed, standing and moving to get into his armor once again. Wordlessly, Javik left, heading to get his own equipment sorted out and head to the briefing.

There went getting some sleep, he supposed, reaching for a stimulant to keep him running for a few hours and sliding it into a pocket. If there was time before deployment, he’d use it, but for now it could wait until he was more sure. An emergency measure, for if they were needed to deploy more immediately.

For now, though, the coffee in the briefing room would be more than enough.

“Two and a half hours ago, three Quarian ships were crippled on a scouting mission to Rannoch here, here and here.” Tali explained, standing in the war-room with the ground team gathered around it on the raised platforms, leaning on the railings with mugs in hand and looking at the holographic globe Tali was using to explain the situation. 

At her words, three designators popped up along the southern hemisphere, and she explained, “The Tara’ana managed to recover engine control and turn, limping back towards the fleet proper while the Heavy Fleet moved to support. The Qwib Qwib managed a reportedly successful crash landing on the surface of the homeworld, but the Rattock landed in the sea and sank.”

“Which means it’s lost to us, but we can still rescue the Admiral, whose ship was leading the scouting maneuvers at the request of the Heavy Fleet.” Shepard added, giving the Quarian woman beside her a small, sympathetic smile and then turning her gaze on her team. “The Civilian Fleet has, for now, been folded under the control of the Patrol and Heavy Fleets, who will be conducting an assault on the orbital defensive stations and fleets in orbit over the locations. Designating station and fleet positions now.”

A dozen large stations popped up on the map at that, dotting space around the planet and lit in blue. Several dozen more appeared a moment later, these designated in green, marking them as low risk manufacturing and refinery locations that were unimportant or easily destroyed. Finally, hundreds of red silhouettes swarming the planet popped onto the map, marking out the hundreds of small fleets patrolling space around Rannoch and, further out, maintaining a defensive line against the Migrant Fleet a few hundred thousand miles away. 

It reminded him of Earth in a distant way, the way that the planet had been turned into a veritable fortress world. 

“Wait, the Admiral’s ship was sent into the scouting mission?” Liara interrupted, Asari eyebrows raised when Tali nodded. “That is lunacy… Who suggested this mission?”

“Well...” Tali turned to look at Shepard, and the armored woman nodded with a small smile. Taking a breath, Tali finally answered, “Admiral Gan’Gerrel suggested that the Civilian Fleet conduct scouting missions such as these since they are faster and smaller than either the Heavy or Patrol Fleets’ ships, and assigned hundreds of them after the Admiralty Board agreed to the idea. Admiral Zaal’Koris was forced to respond, or violate the Admiralty decision, and so his ship was sent out alongside the others.”

“Why is the Admiral the captain of a smaller ship?” Garrus asked, sounding as suspicious as Liara had and as much as John himself was. 

“He felt more comfortable on his own ship once he made Admiral, and didn’t want to forget his roots.” Tali answered simply, “As such, while technically the captain of Liveship Astra, he remained stationed on and kept the name of the Qwib Qwib.”

“The Admiral of the Heavy Fleet made this happen with his plans.” John pointed out dryly, watching Tali’s shoulders stiffen at the implication. “Have you already begun making the moves you said you would to meet the Coalition’s demands for intercession in the Morning War?”

“Yes.” Tali nodded, “We have.”

“Hm…”

“John?” Shepard called out, a lacing of suspicion undercutting her words. “What are you thinking?”

“Are the Quarians mobilising ground forces to rescue the Admiral?” He responded, holding his answer for now and instead addressing the young Quarian. At a shake of her head, he asked his last question. The one that one seal or sink his suspicions. “And did Han’Gerrel request the Nordmandy’s assistance in rescuing the downed Quarians?”

“The Admiralty Board did, but he opposed the plan.” Tali answered quietly, voice coloring with unsurety at his questions. He could tell that, phrased the way he had, she was growing suspicious herself even if she wasn’t yet quite ready to land on an accusation. “According to the Admiral, he’d abide by any plans made, but he wanted to limit Coalition involvement in Quarian affairs. He was out-voted, all to one and with an abstain due to the missing Admiral, but… He’s acting on the plan regardless.”

“John, tell us what you’re suspecting. Now.” Shepard commanded, voice firm as the steel they stood on and brooking no argument. 

Good thing he’d not meant to argue against the order, he supposed. 

“I think that the Admiral is trying to cut the Coalition out, so he can fight this war his way and end it how he wants.” He accused simply, taking a long step forward and looking up at the little yellow circle marking the Civilian Admiral’s location. Grimacing, he gave the two women a look and finished, “And I think that he tried to kill Admiral Korris to see that done. Along with a lot of Quarians.”

At that, Shepard’s jaw set and her teeth start grinder, Tali’s fingers working anxiously beside her.

“Ground team, we’re deploying. Vakarian, Tali, you are to take Liara and Vega and make landfall south of the crash site. Look for survivors, and escort them as you advance.” She ordered, voice chillingly cold and edged like a razor. Like ice, threatening to break with fury at any moment and unleash an avalanche. “John, you and I will lead Javik from the northern side. Legion?”

“Shepard-Commander?” The machine warbled gently, flanges flicking at being suddenly addressed. 

“We could use the long range support, if you don’t mind offering it.” She asked, the machine whirring quietly for a moment as it thought. Finally, though, it nodded and she returned the gesture. “Good. You’ll land with us and go where you like, then. Having a Geth helping us will help us make the case that your kind can work with the Quarians.”

“I will look into the Admiral's behavior, perhaps... I won’t say now, but I’ll do some asking and searching.” Tali nodded, turning to leave and presumably set to work on exactly that.

Everything said that needed saying, the teams began filing for the door to retrieve weapons and head down into Engineering to load into the shuttle. Next stop, he knew, was a ground war against the Geth. A fight to rescue civilians, for the fate of two species and, to an extent, a dozen more based on how the war went.

So the usual, he supposed dryly.

XxX----XxX----XxX

SDPhantom 10 :

Yeah, trying to make her the doting, almost maternal figure but also a terrifying murder hobo in the making is a fun challenge to write.

Astute Guest :

Guess what the Geth arc is about? *waves theatrically, confetti popping in the air*

To sum it up, it’s a complicated cocktail. Shepard knows exactly what he means by expendable, why he says it, and that she can’t disagree as she herself has sacrificed men and women before. The entire story has had this friction to it, of Shepard valuing him more than she perceives he values himself. Now, though, it has the addition of a confusing understanding for her of how and why he believes that. 

And she can’t disagree, even as she dislikes it, because she herself left Kaidan behind to die on Virmire. She agrees with him, and hates it and the reminder. Further, she has Javik’s memories clanking around too. It’s a cocktail of dissonance, as Rookie puts it in this chapter.


End file.
